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LIFE AND DEATH; 

OK, 

THE, CREEPING SHADOW. 
A LECTURE, 

SILENT BUT OF SOVEREIGN POWER. 

CONSISTING OP 

NUMEROUS ORIGINAL COMPOSITIONS IN VERSE AND PROSE, 

AND 

COLLECTIONS FROM ANCIENT MANUSCRIPTS AND VARIOUS 
WRITERS. 

With Twenty-five Illustrations. 

BY 

D. LAMBDEN V FLEMMING, M. D. 



All men opght to be acquainted with the medical art: 
For the knowledge op medicine is the companion of wisdom. 



THE 

ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH, 

AND 

THE PARTICULAR NATURE OF ALL THINGS REQUISITE FOR THE LIFE OF MAN, 
DRINKS, DIET, EXERCISE, AIR, THE PASSIONS, 4c. &.c. 

SPECIAL DIRECTIONS HOW TO LIVE AND PROLONG LIFE; 

WITH 

OTHEE EEMAEKABLE AND MOST USEFUL OBSEEVATIOtfS, 

VERY NECESSARY FOR ALL FAMILIES. 

THE WHOLE TREATISE DISPLAYING THE MOST HIDDEN SECRETS, 
AND MADE EASY AND FAMILIAR. 

THE LIKE NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED. 
COMMUNICATED TO THE WORLD FOR GENERAL GOOD. 





■ ■■> 


rUBLISIIED BY THE AUTHOR. 




PHILADELPHIA. - 


\;.^\j^/ 












Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 

D. LAMBDEN FLEMMING, M.D., 

in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at "Washington. All rights reserved. 



CONTENTS 






PAGE 

Autobiographical Sketch of D. Lambden Flemrning .... 3 

To the Reader 4 

Life and Death — Introduction . . . ... . . .7 

The Hour of death 14 

Death 16 

The Creeping Shadow 19 

Skeleton 21 

The Kaleidoscope of Life 24 

Hygeia .29 

The Art of Preserving Health— Book I.— Air 30 

The Complaint of the Stomach 41 

The Art of Preserving Health : Book II.— Diet 43 

Book III.— Exercise 62 

Book IV.— The Passions 83 

Pure Air and Pure Food : Their Connections and Relationship as an 

Item in Domestic Economy and Hygiene 100 

The Proper and most Natural Way of Boiling, Roasting, Frying, Bak- 
ing, etc., of Flesh and other Food 104 

Of Roasting of Flesh 110 

Of Baking of Flesh Ill 

Of Stewing of Flesh 113 

Of Fried Flesh 116 

Of Broiled Flesh 119 

Of Ale, and its Nature and Operation, as also of Beer .... 122 

Death's Sermon 128 

Death (a Dealer) to his American Correspondent 138 

Of the Excellency of Temperance, the Knowledge of a Man's Self, and 

the Mighty Benefits of Abstinence and Sobriety . . . 141 

Health 169 

The Human Hand 172 

The Human Foot 175 

Corns 178 

(iii) 



IV CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

On Salt, and other Mineral Constituents of Food 182 

Attention to Health no Bar to Enjoyment 184 

The Best Means of Preserving the Health and Vigor of the Body . 186 

Time for Sleep 189 

Pulmonary Consumption 194 

Stimulants 195 

Tea, Coffee, and Liquors 197 

Poison 199 

Social Intercourse 200 

Maxims for Parents 201 

Stammering 202 

Fatuity 204 

A Dreary Prospect 207 

Maxims for the Decline of Life 209 

Tranquillity of Mind 212 

Experience of Jefferson 214 

Practice of Wesley in Regard to Sleep 216 

Eat of One Dish only 217 

Travelling with an Object in View 218 

Health without Physic 220 

Digestibility of Food 222 

What Invalids should Avoid Eating 222 

Rules for the Pedestrian 223 

Domestic Items 225 

The Human Mouth and Lips 228 

The Preservation of the Teeth 229 

Maxims Relating to Health 232 

Usefulness of Soap 234 

Children's Parties and Balls 236 

Real Enjoyment 237 

Hints on Health 239 

Bran Bread 240 

Useful Receipts 242 

Medical Items 244 

Ophthalmia, or Inflammation of the Eyes 252 

Causes of Disease 255 

Longevity of Great Men 257 

Rules for a Young Lady 259 

Animal and Vegetable Food 261 

Physical Education of Girls 263 

The Diet of Children . 266 

Popular Error — Strength and Debility 270 

Nightmare 273 



CONTENTS. V 

PAGE 

"Want of Appetite .275 

Aphorisms for Bathers : Rules for the Guidance of Bathers . . .276 

Doctors' and Lawyers' Patrons 277 

Influence of Marriage on the Duration of Human Life .... 278 

Low Spirits • . . . .279 

The Medical Aspect of a Fast Life 280 

Health Preserved by Rules 282 

The Four Great Sources of Health 284 

Antiquity of Bathing 287 

Preservation of Beauty 289 

Of the Passions 295 

Of Anger 295 

Of Fear . 296 

Of Grief 298 

Of Love 301 

Of Religious Melancholy 302 

Water 304 

How to Test the Purity of Water 304 

Results of these Tests 305 

Remarks . . 306 

The Best Food 307 

Danger of Indiscriminate Feasting 309 

Marriage Maxims 310 

A Correct Theory of Digestion 312 

Active and Laborious Youth 313 

Abstinence from Physical Love in Youth, and a too Early Assumption 

of the Married State 314 

The Glutton 315 

Longevity 317 

Bodily Exercise in Early Life 319 

The King of Kings 320 

Death's Grand Review 324 

An Auxiliary of Death 328 

Death and his Allies 332 

Death's Register 337 

Life's Assurance 339 

The Insurance Office 345 

The Last Bottle 349 

The Bacchanalians 351 

Elixir Vitas 352 

Delirium 358 

Sources of Pleasure 360 

The Wine Cup 363 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Give Me to Drink 363 

The Reclaimed Drunkard 364 

The Balsamic Quality of Water 366 

Evil Effects of Distilled Spirits and Malt Liquors . . . .368 

Temperance 371 

Gaming 375 

Gambling ; or, the Dupes and the Sharpers 386 

The Gamester .390 

Bridle ye your Tongues 393 

Government of the Tongue 394 

Tale-Bearing 396 

The Policy of Minding One's Own Business 398 

Mischief-Makers and Scandal-Mongers 401 

The Grumbler 406 

The Fatal Scroll 410 

The Scroll 410 

To the Maid 411 

Love 412 

Woman; Her Proper Sphere as a Wife and Mother . . . .413 

Influence of the Mother 423 

Duty of Mothers 429 

Woman 437 

To a Mother 439 

Scolding 440 

Correcting Children in Anger 440 

Parental Partiality 441 

Corporal Punishment 443 

Home Education 444 

Death and the Captive 447 

The Captive 450 

The Captive's Release 451 

The Lost Treasure 453 

The Empiric 458 

Unwelcome Officiousness — Death Nursing the Infant in the Absence of 

the Mother, who has gone to a Ball — To the Mother . . . 460 

The Ball 461 

To my Infant 466 

Contentment, the True Alchemy of Life 467 

To Death ... 468 

Slothfulness ... 470 

Booked for a Passage to the Old One ....... 474 

Hints for Mothers and Fathers . 475 

A Lecture, Silent but of Sovereign Power ...... 478 






AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

OF D. LAMBDEN FLEMMING. 

I was born in the County of Dorchester, State of Mary- 
land, on the 21st day of October, 1839. Evincing at an 
early age an eager desire for the profession of medicine, 
and as one of the readiest modes of gratifying that de- 
sire, by the opportunities afforded for the study, I be- 
came the pupil of a popular and extensive Practitioner 
of Medicine in my native county. I attended my first 
course of Medical Lectures at the Jefferson Medical Col- 
lege of Philadelphia in the winter of 1857-58. At the 
conclusion of my first course of Medical Lectures at the 
Jefferson, I returned to the office of my Preceptor. The 
ensuing winter, I entered the halls of the University of 
Maryland, and became the student of Nathan P. Smith, 
the eminent and distinguished surgeon of the University 
of Maryland, and remained in his office three years, 
during which time I had access to the Baltimore Infir- 
mary, which is, and" always has been, to use the words of 
the distinguished William A. Hammond, M.D., Profes- 
sor of Diseases of the Mind and Nervous System in the 
Bellevue Hospital Medical College of New York, (one of 
the best schools for the thorough study of all important 
and interesting diseases, which the country possesses,) at 
the end of which time, I was appointed resident Func- 
tionary in the same Institution, after attending three 
courses at the University of Maryland. I graduated 
in March, 1861. I then entered into practice with my 
Father-in-law, the eminent Dr. Wm. H. Farrow, County 
of Worcester, State of Maryland, and practiced there 
three years, after which I removed to Philadelphia. 

(3) 



TO THE READER. 



TO THE READER. 



That mighty tyrant, Custom, has made it fashionable 
(and consequently seemingly necessary) to dedicate 
books, when published, to some great names, whom au- 
thors are wont to load with flatteries, and then beg their 
protection ; a course, in my opinion, no less impertinent 
than base, for if the writer be conscious himself that he 
needs pardon and such supporters, why does he trouble 
the world with his papers 1 If his intentions are good 
and candid, what need of such fawning addresses'? 
Truth is too noble to truckle to those little artifices, 
and carries, in the majesty of her unclouded brow, both 
sufficient passport and patronage, and those who oppose 
her do it at their own peril, for at long-run she is sure 
to be victorious. 

I therefore decline that vulgar method, as one who 
am nowise fond of running the broad way of the mul- 
titude. To thee, O Reader, whoever thou art, is this 
book entirely dedicated ; and yet I shall not so much as 
bespeak thee to be kind and courteous, only for thy own 
sake, desire thee to be just and considerate, to weigh 
impartially what I offer, (I mean the matter, not the 
words or style) and if still thou wilt, with the deaf 
adder, stop thine ears against the voice of the charmer, 
the fault and the danger will be thine ; I have dis- 
charged my duty. 

The main design of this Treatise, (Life and Death) 
is to bring men acquainted with themselves, and recom- 
mend Temperance, the most excellent (though most 
neglected) virtue in the world, to their practice — in a 






TO THE READEE. D 

word, to persuade them to be kind to their own healths, 
their own lives, their own souls. 

Nor will it be needful here to give you a bill of fare of 
the several dishes, which this banquet presents you with ; 
that is done in the contents of the several chapters. 
All I shall say is, that here are variety of truths plainly 
delivered. 

One grand objection I foresee, viz., that I am guilty 
of tautology, or have too oft repeated the same things. 
To this I answer: 1. I hope you will rarely find bare 
repetitions ; but although the same or alike expressions 
may occur, yet still they are either attended with some 
addition and illustration, or else are improved to the 
explaining some other notion. 

2. Needful truths are never too often repeated, till 
they are once well learnt. Many men are slow of appre- 
hension, and cannot reach one's meaning without a large 
expense of words. By these reiterated strokes, I would 
willingly make impression, first on thy understanding, 
and next on thy refractory will, to practice what is so 
necessary to thy well-doing, that is, thy well-being. 

There is yet another prejudice may be taken, because 
in some particulars I have spoken what may seem too 
free and satirical. But if any with unbiassed minds 
will please to consider the banefulness of those things I 
speak against, and withal how destructive they are to 
mankind, they will be satisfied that such a subject de- 
serves no other treatment. ' Tis neither out of ill-will 
or self-interest that I have handled them at that rate ; 
but as I conceived they ought justly to be exposed to 
the contempt of that part of the world which so long 
they have ass-ridden and seduced. 



6 TO THE READER. 

That you may come to the right understanding of 
God's law in Nature, and govern yourselves accordingly, 
to the obtaining health, both of the body and mind, and 
be happy here and hereafter, is the endeavor as well as 
desire of 

Your Well-wishing Friend. 



Disordered Passions. — There is nothing, perhaps, 
which contributes more to health and longevity than the 
proper regulation of the passions. The animating affec- 
tions — as joy, hope, love, &c. — when kept within proper 
bounds, gently excite the nervous system, promote an 
equable circulation of the blood, and are highly condu- 
cive to health ; while the more violent and depressing 
passions — as anger, ambition, jealousy, fear, grief, and 
despair — produce the contrary effects and lay the founda- 
tion for the most formidable diseases. 



Indelicacy in breathing Impure Air. — Persons who are 
fond of frequenting unwholesome crowds, such as the 
warm, full theatre, or dancing assembly, ought to be 
informed that nothing is so indelicate as to breathe 
respired air, or that exhaled from the lungs of other 
people. To drink of the same cup is the height of 
politeness, compared with this custom. 



Were man to live as he should do — enjoying every 
good gift, and abusing none — he would (saving acci- 
dents) live to extreme old age without disease. 



INTRODUCTION. 



LIFE AND DEATH. 



INTRODUCTION. 

It is difficult, if not impossible, in this our day of 
accumulated literature, to start anything new; yet, 
rather than close their labors for " lack of argument," 
our literary adventurers ransack every corner for subject- 
matter; and, to stimulate the public appetite, old viands 
are served up in new dishes, either of plate, china, or 
delf, as best may suit the taste or the means of the 
bookish epicure. 

How far the subject now offeree 1 may be relished by 
the generality, remains to be tried. It will not want 
the seasoning of antiquity to recommend it, being nearly 
as old as the Creation; and, if a judgment may be 
formed from the number of works, both literary and 
graphic, which have appeared in ancient and modern 
times, and the avidity with which they have been re- 
ceived, it may reasonably be expected that the present 
attempt to serve up a sort of Graphic Olio, with suitable 
garnishes of prose and verse, may not be unacceptable 
to the general reader ; and the more so, as the endeavor 
has been to give (if not altogether a new), at least a 
more appropriate reading to the old version of the Dance 
of Death. 

There is little to apprehend in the way of objection, 
from any application of the designs contained in the 
work to individual concerns or pursuits, as — 



8 INTRODUCTION. 

"All men think all men mortal but themselves;" 

and there will be no want of claimants to the heirlooms 
either of safety or longevity. At any rate the greater 
part of mankind will assume the privilege of exemption 
from such incidental casualties as are pointed out in the 
course of the illustrations here exhibited, and will find 
a clause in their own favor. Thus, for example, the 
sportsman will readily observe : — 

" I have hunted, leapt gates, hedges, and ditches, and 
cleared all that came in my way; but, then, my skill 
and my horse brought me safe off. The foolish fellow 
that broke his neck the other day could expect nothing 
else ; instead of minding what he was about in taking 
his leap, he was looking another way; and, then, the 
hack he rode !" 

" That poor devil of an artist," observes one of the 
same profession, " labored at his pictures till he was 
nearly blind, toiling till nature became exhausted ; he 
could hardly be said to breathe the vital air; the effluvia 
of his colors had entirely penetrated his system ; and it 
is no wonder he fell a victim to his confinement and his 
exertions together." 

" Ned is gone at last," says a bon-vivant to his 

companion; "but it is not surprising — he was a careless 
drinker; I told him his wine-merchant sold him poison." 

In this, or some such way, all will argue in favor of 
themselves ; while the machine of life drives on heed- 
lessly and rapidly. It is true, the check-string may 
occasionally be drawn by the observing traveller, to 



INTRODUCTION. 9 

point out to his fellow-passengers some remarkable spot, 
stamped by some striking event connected with mortal- 
ity; but the pause will be brief, and the vehicle will 
ajjain be in motion with as little care as before it was 
stopped. And this, in some measure, must be the case 
while we continue to be creatures of this world ; even 
the gloomy ascetic will sometimes steal a look from his 
cloisters or his cell upon the beauties of the creation, 
and become a momentary sceptic to his monastic notions, 
and pine at the vegetative character of his own existence. 

With whatever success the labors of the moralist, the 
philosopher, or the preacher, may have been attended 
in bringing into view the skeleton remains of the human 
frame as an emblem of Death, to warn and awaken man- 
kind to a sense of the condition to which they must 
come at last, the satirist has seldom failed of exciting 
attention to the characteristic structure of this human 
machinery, stripped of those lineaments and fair pro- 
portions which in life were its charm and pride; but 
with this difference^ that his views of the subject have 
ever tended to the ludicrous. 

Such appears to have been the case even in those 
days of superstitious ignorance, when the minds of men 
were subject to the domination of monkish power ; for, 
as soon as the first impression of alarm made by the 
ghastly plmntom, as exhibited in their churches, was over, 
and the object became familiar, ridicule took the place 
of fear, and farcical representations of Death on the 
stage and by the pencil succeeded, in numbers and ex- 
tent, perhaps, beyond those of any other subject. 



10 INTRODUCTION. 

One of these farcical moralities is hinted at by our 
immortal bard, in his play of "Measure for Measure": — 

" Merely thou art Death's fool : 
For him thou labourest, by thy flight, to shun, 
And yet runn'st toward him still." 

This passage is explained in a note, thus : " In the 
simplicity of the ancient shows upon our stage, it was 
common to bring in two figures, one representing a fool, 
and the other, Death or Fate ; the turn and contrivance 
of the piece was, to make the fool lay many stratagems 
to avoid Death, which yet brought him more immediately 
into the jaws of it." 

It is more than probable that Shakspeare had seen and 
considered many of the paintings and designs on the 
subject of Death, and with his powerful touch concen- 
trated the spirit of all that had been said or clone in the 
various works then extant, still keeping up the character 
of the burlesque united with the deepest pathos : — 

" For within the hollow crown 
That rounds the mortal temples of a king, 
Keeps Death his court : and there the antic sits, 
Mocking his state and grinning at his pomp ; 
Allowing him a breath, a little scene 
To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks ; 
Infusing him with self and vain conceit, 
As if this flesh, which walls about his life, 
Were brass impregnable : and, humoured thus, 
Comes at the last, and with a little pin 
Bores through his castle walls, and — farewell king." 

The same play has the following monitory passage, 
equally expressive of the frailty and folly of man, who— 

" Most ignorant of what .he's most assured — 
His glassy essence" — 

is apt to play the game of life with too much confidence. 



INTRODUCTION. 11 

Some there are who make Death the whole business 
of life : shutting their eyes on the fair face of nature, 
they think a snare is set in every beauteous object by 
which they are surrounded, and plunge at once into the 
gloom of solitude, lest the light of heaven should dazzle 
their sight and darken their understanding, and work 
them perdition by tempting to the indulgence of those 
feelings it was meant to inspire : — 

"And thus, in one continued strife, 
'Twixt fear of Death and love of life," 

they pass their existence in a state of deadening apathy 
or of feverish self-denial; immolating the charities of 
life and the best affections of the heart at the shrine of 
superstition. True, the tenure of our being cannot be 
beneficially held without occasionally adverting to the 
terms on which it has been granted ; and it is sometimes 
necessary to call in aid the admonitions of the wise and 
the reflecting, to bring our truant thoughts to a proper 
estimate of life. 

In this view, most of the designs of skeleton forms 
have been presented to the contemplation of the careless 
and unthinking ; but, as has been before observed, few 
of them have been so managed as not to border on the 
ludicrous. 



The subject of Death has continued to employ the 
pen and the pencil, with more or less of character, down 
to the present time ; though the productions of recent 
date possess less point, and have, perhaps, more of the 
grotesque than works more remote, and do not, in their 
graphic form, exhibit the higher qualities of art which 
are seen in the performances of the old masters ; but 



12 INTRODUCTION. 

are principally addressed to the eye and understanding 
of the many, rather than to those of the artist or amateur. 

"The ancients contemplated death without terror, and 
met it with indifference. It was the only divinity to 
which they never sacrificed, convinced that no human 
being could turn aside its stroke. They raised altars to 
Favor, to Misfortune, to all the evils of life ; for these 
might change. But, though they did not court the 
presence of Death in any shape, they acknowledged its 
tranquillity in the beautiful fables of their allegorical 
religion. Death was the daughter of Night and the 
sister of Sleep, and ever the friend of the unhappy. 

" If the full light of revelation had not yet broken on 
them, it can hardly be denied that they had some glimpse 
and a dawn of the life to come, from the many allego- 
rical inventions which describe the transmigration of the 
soul : — a butterfly on the extremity of a lamp — Love, 
with a melancholy air, leaning on an inverted torch, 
elegantly denoted the cessation of life." 

It was in contemplating this touching and appropriate 
representation, as it appears in an engraved gem, that 
Mr. Croly produced those beautiful lines in his Illustra- 
tions of Antique Gems: — 

" Spirit of the drooping wing, 
And the ever-weeping eye, 
Thou of all earth's kings art king : 
Empires at thy footstool lie 
Beneath thee strew'd, 
Their multitude 
Sink like waves upon the shore — 
Storms shall never rouse them more. 



INTRODUCTION. 13 

"What's the grandeur of the earth 
To the grandeur of thy throne ? 
Riches, glory, beauty, birth, 
To thy kingdom all have gone. 
Before thee stand 
The wondrous band — 
Bards, heroes, side by side, 
Who darken'd nations when they died ! 



Earth hath hosts, but thou canst 

Many a million for her one : 
Through thy gate the mortal flow 
Has for countless years roll'd on. 
Back from the tomb 
No step has come ; - 
There fix'd, till the last thunder's sound 
Shall bid thy prisoners be unbound." 



Beautiful as the emblem of Mortality in the weeping 
infant, with the inverted torch, certainly is, that of the 
butterfly is no less apt in representing the soul. The 
purity and lightness of its nature, its ambrosial food, 
the gayety and splendor of its colors — above all, its 
winged liberty when bursting from its tomblike confine- 
ment, in which it appeared to sleep the sleep of death, 
afford so powerful a contrast exhibited in the same crea- 
ture, that it could not fail to strike the intelligent among 
the heathen world as a fit symbol of Immortality. 

It is no very extravagant stretch of fancy, to imagine 
the souls of some gifted individuals embodied agreeably 
to their intellectual endowments. What a contrast 
might then be seen to the low, grublike, insignificant 
forms under which many a genius has been cloaked, in 
the exalted, noble, and imposing shapes which they 
would then assume, while others, whose vacant minds 
have been hid beneath a fair exterior, would sink in the 



14 INTRODUCTION. 

scale, and become in appearance the insects of reptiles 
best suited to their real character. 

Neither is this " considering the matter too curiously," 
for it is in perfect accordance with the apostle's views 
of the resurrection. 

" But some men will say — how are the dead raised 
up] and with what body do they cornel 

" Thou fool, that which thou sowest is not quickened 
except it die." 

And then he thus goes on: — 

" There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of 
the moon, and another glory of the stars ; for one star 
differeth from another star in glory. 

" So also is the resurrection of the body : it is sown 
in corruption, it is raised in incorruption ; it is sown in 
dishonour, it is raised in glory ; it is sown in weakness, 
it is raised in power." 

With this exalted view of the subject, the following 
serious and appropriate lines, from the pen of Mrs. He- 
mans, may not inaptly conclude the Introduction to a 
work, which, varied and miscellaneous as it is, yet in its 
general character is calculated to lead the mind to a 
contemplation of 

"THE HOUR OF DEATH. 

" Leaves have their time to fall, 
And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, 



INTRODUCTION. 15 

And stars to set — but all, 
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death ! 

" Day is for mortal care, 
Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth, 

Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer, 
But all for thee, thou Mightiest of the Earth ! 

" The Banquet hath its hour, 
Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine ; 

There comes a day for Grief's o'erwhelming power, 
A time for softer tears — but all are thine. 

" Youth and the opening Rose 
May look like things too glorious for decay, 

And smile at thee — but thou art not of those 
That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey. 

" We know when moons shall wane, 
When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea, 

When Autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain — 
But who shall teach us when to look for thee \ 

"Is it when Spring's first gale 
Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie X 

Is it when roses in our paths grow pale 1 — 
They have one season — all are ours to die ! 

" Thou art where billows foam ; 
Thou art where music melts upon the air; 

Thou art around us in our peaceful home, 
And the world calls us forth, and thou art there. 

" Thou art where friend meets friend, 
Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest ; 

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend 
The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest." 



16 DEATH. 



DEATH. 



Death may be defined simply as that state or condi- 
tion in which waste and decay are not compensated for 
by repair. For living structures decay as dead ones do, 
although the fashion of the decay is, in the two cases, 
different. In death, nothing takes the place of that 
which is lost, and the material body, as an individual, 
disappears. 

" Death still pursues thee, and each flying hour, 
Does some small portion of thy life devour." 

But who, let us seriously inquire, and what, is this 
all-potent Alchemist, Death "? 

" Death is Life, and Life is Death," said Euripides, 
and so said Plato, and so said the Eastern Sages. If 
then Death be Life, as the wise and virtuous of all ages 
have believed, the question recurs, what is Life? 

Life, says the Beauty, is admiration and gay attire; — 
it is dice and dash, says the Spendthrift; — it is gain, 
say the Merchant and the Miser; — it is power, says the 
Prince. Yet the Alchemist looks for it in an elixir. 
But Death dethrones the Prince — breaks the Merchant 
and Miser — out-dashes the Spendthrift and the Belle, 
and spills the elixir of Life ! 

Life is action, says the Cricketer; — it is a feast, says 
the Glutton ; — it is a bubble, says the Philosopher : but 
Death bursts the Philosopher's bubble — gormandizes the 
Glutton, and bowls out the Cricketer! 



DEATH. 1 7 

It is fees, says the Physician; — it is judgment and 
execution, says the Judge; — it is all vanity, says the 
Parson: but Death humbles the Parson's vanity, exe- 
cutes the Judge and his judgments, and takes fee of the 
Physician and his Patients too ! 

Thou art then a very Proteus, Death ; at once a 
Miser, a Merchant, and a Prince; — thou art a Game, a 
Glutton, and a Bubble ; — thou art Justice to the injured, 
a Physician to the sick, and a humbler of Vanity; thou 
art Master of the Ceremonies of Life, sporting with it 
in every form, and we have sported with thee ! 

Thus, view them however we may, Life and Death 
are endless paradoxes; the love of the one, and the fear 
of the other, are unquestionably imprinted in our nature 
for wise purposes — they gain and lose strength — they 
rise and fall — and in all their movements they dance 
together. 

That these passions, however useful and necessary, 
relatively to our natural state, are equally vain and fal- 
lacious in an absolute and moral sense, has long been 
admitted by the philosopher: and that they may be so 
to common sense, we have only to consider that it is as 
natural to die as to be born — that Death and Life are 
merely figurative of the two general relations, being and 
cessation; and that Death in particular, the grim King 
of Terrors, is only a personification — the Pluto of the 
Poets — an animated skeleton, or anatomie vivante of the 
imagination; so that, as we cannot paint white without 
black, we cannot represent Death without Life. 
2 



18 DEATH. 

If, however, these passions are ever so vain and illu- 
sive, their effects are no less actual and certain, and of 
difficult mastery: it eminently deserves our concern, 
therefore, that we should so cultivate and control them, 
that we may continue life with enjoyment, and quit it 
without regret; and since it is a fact, that man loves 
and desires only good, and fears only ill — so long as life 
is a good he loves it, and when it becomes an evil he 
loathes it. The sum of our aim then is, that, as evil is 
but the consequence of ill action, and we dread not 
Death nor desire Life for themselves, we have only to 
act well, that we may live without fear, and die without 
despair. 

These impressions are accordingly strongest in early 
life, and, when our course is right, they appear to decline 
as we advance, and to become feeble and extinct ; so 
that by degrees, beautifully suited to a virtuous progress, 
Heaven disengages us altogether from the love of Life 
and the fear of Death. 



A Hint to the Studious.— A celebrated Florentine has 
aptly said: A painter will wash his pencils — a smith 
will look to his hammer, anvil, and forge — a husband- 
man will mend his plough-irons, and grind his hatchet, 
if it be dull — a falconer or huntsman will have an espe- 
cial care of his hawks, hounds, and horses, — a mu- 
sician will string and unstring his lute; — the Literati 
alone neglect that instrument, the Brain, which they 
daily use; by which they range over the world, and 
which, by much study, is consumed. 



THE CREEPING SHADOW. 19 



THE CREEPING SHADOW. 

Mark the Creeping Shadow ! Silent and seemingly 
still, yet with slow, noiseless steps it is moving along, 
creeping onward, ever onward, still marking moments 
and hours in their flight, until the morn of Life is past, 
the noon is reached, the day declines, the sunlight fades, 
and the pall of darkness settles around. 

Such is Life and Death ! Such its march — slow, un- 
observed, yet irresistible in its effect. It is a world of 
change and separation ; the voice of nature is constantly 
addressing us in farewell tones ; each withered leaf, as 
it falls from the majestic forest tree, and the lowliest 
shrub that blooms by the wayside, are fit emblems of 
mortality, and should remind us of the solemn hour 
when the last faint, feeble murmur of the dying is heard, 
while yet the lips are half unclosed and trembling, and 
the heart speaks forth the last solemn strain ; Farewell ! 

See yon glorious orb of light, as he arises from his 
morning rest ! Slowly he moves onward, shedding a 
halo of joy and brightness Qn every object. Gently his 
rays linger on the half-formed dew-drops, and the almost 
opened flower ; these he welcomes into life, giving them, 
as it were, a new existence wherein to bloom in bright- 
ness and beauty. Blessed sunlight, we welcome thee in 
all thy loveliness ! Each young spray receives a rosy 
flush of beauty when lighted by thy smile ; the fairy- 
peopled world of flowers brightens at thy presence, and 
the sweet dews that sparkle like beaded diamonds on 
the mossy bank greet thee with a merry smile; the fervid 
hue of love is kindled anew where thou hast thy throne. 



20 THE CREEPING SHADOW. 

Thou hast no favorites, but visitest the lowly mansion 
as cheerfully as the lordly palace, crownest alike with 
golden diadem the monarch of the forest and the way- 
side shrub, and smilest as tenderly upon the lowly violet 
as upon the proud dahlia; with skilful hand thou paint- 
est the early bloom and bathest in gorgeous light the 
autumn flowers, and thou givest to live all its freshness 
and beauty. 

Life would be full of gladness, were there no shadows 
to remind us of change and decay. Every sound which 
is whispered bears in itself a farewell story. As the 
plaintive strains of far-off music fall upon the half-con- 
scious ear, it sinks deeper and deeper, filling the soul 
with all the emotions which are great and ennobling; 
it lends a brighter tint to our happiness, a ray of glad- 
ness to our being, we seem borne on the wings of sound 
to a brighter land where change is unknown, where the 
severed links of life will be united in one unbroken 
chain, and where song and praise will never be hushed. 
There flowers will bloom untouched by thorns, and 
spring forever reign. There the aged shall renew his 
youth, and flourish in immortal strength and beauty. 



It is health that makes your bed easy, and your sleep 
refreshing; that renews your strength with the rising 
sun; that fills up the hollows and uneven places of your 
carcass, and makes you plump and comely, and adorns 
your face with her choicest colors; that makes your 
exercise a sport; that increases the natural endowments 
of your mind, and makes the soul delight in her mansion. 



SKELETON. 



21 




SKELETON. 

Ye skeleton I like to view, because 

No veil there screens a mean perfidious heart ; 

No vertebra inclines, to feign applause 

Where scorn is felt; but, finished life's brief part, 

The limbs with seeming dignity can pause, 

Nor shake with terror nor with fury start; 

And Death, as seen by me, was, I must own, 

A very gentlemanly skeleton. 



"The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
Await alike th' inevitable hour ; 
The paths of glory lead but to the grave." 



22 SKELETON. 

1. Behold this ruin! 'Twas a skull, 
Once of ethereal spirit full. 

This narrow cell was Life's retreat, 
This space was Thought's mysterious seat. 
What beauteous visions filled this spot, 
What dreams of pleasure long forgot. 
Nor Hope, nor Love, nor Joy, nor Fear, 
Have left one trace of record here. 

2. Beneath this mouldering canopy 
Once shone the bright and busy eye; 
But, start not at the dismal void — 
If social Love that eye employed ; 
If with no lawless fire it gleamed, 

But through the dews of kindness beamed, 
That eye shall be forever bright 
When stars and suns are sunk in night. 

3. Within this hollow cavern hung 
The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue. 
If Falsehood's honey it disdained, 

And where it could not praise, was chained 
If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke, 
Yet gentle Concord never broke ! 
This silent tongue shall plead for thee 
When Time unveils Eternity. 

4. Say, did these fingers delve the mine'? 
Or with its envied rubies shine'? 

To hew the rock, or wear the gem, 
Can little now avail to them. 
But if the page of Truth they sought, 
Or comfort to the mourner brought, 



SKELETON. 23 

These hands a richer meed shall claim 
Than all that wait on Wealth or Fame. 

5. Avails it whether bare or shod, 

These feet the paths of duty trod ? — 
If from the bowers of Ease they fled, 
To seek Affliction's humble shed, 
If Grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned, 
And home to Virtue's cot returned, 
These feet with angels' wings shall vie, 
And tread the palace of the sky. 



Neglect of Health . — It is much to be regretted, that 
mankind in general, while in the enjoyment of health, 
pay so little attention to the preservation of so inesti- 
mable a blessing. Nothing is more common than to see 
a miserable object with a constitution broken down by 
his own imprudence,, and a prey to disease, bathing, 
walking, riding, and, in a word, doing everything to 
solicit a return of health — yet, had his friends recom- 
mended these very things to him by way of preventing, 
the advice would, in all probability, have been treated 
with contempt, or at least with neglect. Such is the 
weakness and folly of mankind, and such the want of 
foresight, even in those who ought to be wiser than 
others. 



Every man is either a fool or a physician after thirty 
years of age. 



24 THE KALEIDOSCOPE OF LIFE. 




THE KALEIDOSCOPE OF LIFE. 

In the beautiful Grecian myth which is an allegory 
of the Fall, we are told that when the curiosity of Pan- 
dora had opened the casket that contained the maladies 
and miseries which were to afflict the world, Hope re- 
mained at the bottom, to cheer the heart of man under 
the sorrows of life. It is the one star that is ever shining 
amid surrounding clouds and darkness — lighting, with 
benign radiance, his pathway from the cradle to the tomb. 

Like the magic toy, which presents scattered pebbles 
and broken fragments of painted glass in regular forms, 
and clothes them with beautiful colors, Hope arranges 
again in order our disappointed plans and broken ex- 
pectations, and invests them anew with the rainbow 
hues of future success. 

As difficulties and perplexities gather around the path 
of the youthful student, while he wanders amid the 



THE KALEIDOSCOPE OF LIFE. 25 

mazes of doubtful truth, and darkness seems gathering 
around him ; when his feet become weary and his heart 
faint, he looks through the Kaleidoscope, and his droop- 
ing spirit is cheered with the sight of images of sur- 
passing loveliness and beauty, that are to burst upon 
him when knowledge shall have revealed to him her 
mysteries, and admitted him to the honors and rewards 
with which she crowns and endows her votaries. 

Why did the brave and virtuous Columbus persist in 
his endeavors to induce Isabella to fit out a fleet for him 
to explore the unknown regions of the West? and why 
did she freely offer to part with her jewels, to procure 
the means necessary to fit out the expedition % Com- 
forting Hope encouraged them to persevere, and richly 
rewarded their efforts, for he returned to her court bear- 
ing the joyful news of the great discovery he had made 
in the West. Inspired by Hope, he made other voyages, 
and, discovering the continent of America, added a new 
world to the kingdoms of Castile and Leon. 

The fond mother, whose heart may be the shrine of 
buried conjugal love, and who may be a pensioner upon 
the world's cold bounty, as she bends fondly over the 
cradle of her infant boy, looks through the Kaleidoscope 
of the future, and beholds visions such as no painter's 
mind can summon, nor anything but a mother's heart 
conceive, when the helpless child shall become the strong 
man, and emulate the virtues and fame of his departed 
sire, and be the pride and the prop of her declining years. 

The warrior on his toilsome march, or pillowing his 
head upon the cold ground — in the din of battle, when 
the honr of peril has come, and the noise of cannon 
echoes on the air — and blood and carnage strew the 
battle-field — glances through the Kaleidoscope, and be- 



26 THE KALEIDOSCOPE OF LIFE. 

holds the established liberties of his country, and the 
wreaths and trophies of conquest — and hears above the 
storm of war, the plaudits of his countrymen — and he 
rushes to the contest, shouting "Liberty or Death!" 

It is this which has nerved the hearts and hands of 
the true and brave in all ages — with this inspiring them, 
they have been ready to devote themselves upon the 
altar of their country's good, and, firm in their purpose, 
and steadfast in their undertaking, they have raised their 
swords to heaven and sworn to die for its liberty. 

Far out upon the hoary deep, where the golden smile 
of summer never comes, but the winter-king flaps his 
ice-bespangled wings — where the seaman is tossed upon 
the billows, with naught to guide his course over the 
dark waters — when the wild winds rage around him, and 
the spirit of the storm points to a watery grave, and his 
heart begins to fail, and the tear-drops start from his 
eyes — then Hope presents her Kaleidoscope and wakes 
her golden lyre ; and as she sings of his distant home, 
and the loving hearts and the gentle voices within, her 
strains soothe the mighty monsters in their polar habita- 
tions- — and he hears a voice saying to the wild winds 
and waves, "Peace! be still!" and he seems to tread 
again his native fields, and anticipates the rapturous re- 
union and the joys of home. 

Hope is the ever-constant soother of our cares and 
sorrows, and the inspirer of our toils. Without this 
talisman, even Love, worshipping at the shrine of beauty, 
would soon remit his ardor, and grow weary of his ado- 
ration. Were it not for the suggestions of Hope, the 
earnest suitor would soon give over his efforts to win the 
obdurate fair, but Hope cheers him with omens of sue- 



THE KALEIDOSCOPE OF LIFE. 27 

cess, and fills his imagination with dreams of quiet hap- 
piness by the domestic altar and hearthstone. 

The Christian's life is one of trials and temptations, 
for he is a pilgrim and a stranger upon the earth. The 
Book of God is his Kaleidoscope, nor does he fail to look 
therein during his earthly pilgrimage, and as he does so, 
he beholds bright visions of the City of God, and of the 
mansions prepared for the faithful, beyond the bed of 
corruption and our sleep in dust. When the heart of 
the mourner sinks as she tearfully gazes on the cold and 
lifeless remains of one beloved, she is cheered by visions 
of the upper sanctuary, for she beholds the loved and 
lost in the garments of immortality standing by the 
throne of God, joining in the chorus of the ransomed 
and the glorified. 

Were it not for Hope, our life would be too dark and 
dreary, and we would pine for a release from its cares 
and sorrows in the calm and quiet grave. But after 
darkness, cometh light; after the tempest, the rainbow; 
and sunshine after the storm — and our merciful Father 
has given us Hope to illumine the darkness and relieve 
the disquietudes of our mortal state. All nature, whe- 
ther robed in green or decked with flowers, is full of hope. 
Her music floats among the evergreens and blossoms 
until the little harbingers of summer catch the strain 
and breathe it into human hearts — diffusing calmness, 
and serenity, and joy around. 

Hail, lovely Hope, immortal never-failing friend of 
man ! Love may grow cold and leave the heart, and 
friendship may decay; but oh! thou, with thy sunny 
smiles wilt still linger in the hour of affliction and sor- 
row. When other friends are false and fail us, thy smiles 



28 THE KALEIDOSCOPE OF LIFE. 

are warm and true. Thou art man's first and best friend, 
and shall be his companion as long as the sun shall run 
his round; 

" Till the heavens and earth are rolled away 
And there shall be no more sea." 

And when the works of nature shall fade, and the sun 
shall cease to shine, thou wilt accompany him to the 
heavenly mansions, and having fulfilled thy blessed mis- 
sion upon earth, commit him to Joy, thy celestial sister, 
who shall be with him through eternity. 

" Eternal Hope ! when yonder spheres sublime 
Pealed their first notes to sound the march of time, 
Thy joyous youth began — but not to fade 
When all the sister planets have decayed ; 
When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow, 
And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below ; 
Thou, undismayed, shalt o'er the ruins smile, 
And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile !" 



I beseech all persons who shall read this work, not to 
degrade themselves to a level with the brutes or the 
rabble, by eating and drinking promiscuously whatever 
pleases their palates, or by indulging their appetites of 
every kind. But whether they understand physic or not, 
let them consult their reason, and observe what agrees 
and what does not agree with them, that, like wise men, 
they may adhere to the use of such things as conduce 
to their health, and forbear everything which by their 
own experience they find to do them hurt; and let them 
be assured, that by a diligent observance and practice 
of this rule, they may enjoy a good share of health, and 
seldom stand in need of physic or physicians. 



■ I '■ 




HYGEIA, THE GODDESS OF HEALTH. 



HTGEIA. 29 



HYGEIA. 

Htgeia, the Goddess of Health, was, according to 
the genealogy of the heathen deities, the daughter of 
Esculapius; and he, according to ancient mythology, 
was reckoned the god and inventor of medicine, and 
received the glory of having discovered the healing art. 
She is here holding conversation with her Father and 
the imps of Hell, obtaining secrets in physic from the 
Devil himself, to enable her, through the aid of her 
Electro-chymical apparatus, to prepare the celebrated 
San-guin'e-ous Balsams of Life, which, if used according 
to directions, and all the laws which govern health be 
strictly carried out as directed in her following Art of 
Preserving Health, man can live not only to the good 
old age allotted to man (threescore and ten), but far 
beyond that period. Then it 's 

Hygeia, hail ! I '11 drink at thy pure spring, 
Where Temperance and Exercise preside ; 
And while life's dearest boon thy handmaids bring, 
Though from the wine-press flow the purple tide, 
The tempting goblet from my lips I '11 fling, 
Scorning the gifts by luxury supplied. 
Hail ! then, Hygeia, hail ! " thee, Goddess, I adore," 
For, blest with health, I 'm rich, though scanty be my 
store ! 

All of the various baleful forms of disease and death 
fly from her presence. 



30 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

THE AKT OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Book I. 

AIR. 

Htgeia! whose indulgent smile sustains 
The various race luxuriant nature pours, 
And on th' immortal essences bestows 
Immortal youth ; auspicious, O descend ! 
Thou cheerful guardian of the rolling year, 
Whether thou wanton'st on the western gale, 
Or shak'st the rigid pinions of the north, 
Diffusest life and vigor through the tracts 
Of air, thro' earth, and ocean's deep domain. 
When through the blue serenity of heaven 
Thy power approaches, all the wasteful host 
Of pain and sickness, squalid and deform'd, 
Confounded sink into the loathsome gloom, 
Where in deep Erebus involv'd the fiends 
Grow more profane. Whatever shapes of death, 
Shook from the hideous chambers of the globe, 
Swarm thro' the shudd'ring air: whatever plagues 
Or meagre famine breeds, or with slow wings 
Rise from the putrid watery element, 
The damp waste forest, motionless and rank, 
That smothers earth and all the breathless winds, 
Or the vile carnage of the inhuman field ; 
Whatever baneful breaths the rotten South ; 
Whatever ills the extremes or sudden change 
Of cold and hot, or moist and dry produce ; 
They fly thy pure effulgence : they, and all 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 31 

The secret poisons of avenging Heaven, 
And all the pale tribes halting in the train 
Of Vice and heedless Pleasure : or if aught 
The comet's glare amid the burning sky, 
Mournful eclipse, or planets ill combin'd, 
Portend disasters to the vital world ; 
Thy salutary power averts their rage, 
Averts the general bane : and but for thee 
Nature would sicken. Nature soon would die. 

Without thy cheerful active energy 
No rapture swells the breast, no poet sings, 
No more the maids of Helicon delight. 
Come then with me, O Goddess heavenly gay ! 
Begin the song ; and let it sweetly flow, 
And let it sweetly teach thy wholesome laws : 
" How best the fickle fabric to support 
Of mortal man ; in healthful body how 
A healthful mind the longest to maintain." 
'Tis hard, in such a strife of rules, to choose 
The best, and those of most extensive use ; 
Harder in clear and animated song 
Dry philosophic precepts to convey. 
Yet with thy aid the secret wilds I trace 
Of nature, and with daring steps proceed 
Through paths the muses never trod before. 

Nor should I wander doubtful of my way, 
Had I the lights of that sagacious mind 
Which taught to check the pestilential fire, 
And quell the deadly Python of the Nile. 
O thou belov'd by all the graceful arts, 
Thou long the fav'rite of the healing powers, 



32 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Indulge, O Mead ! a well-design'd essay, 
Howe'er imperfect: and permit that I 
My little knowledge with my country share, 
Till you the rich Asclepian stores unlock, 
And with new graces dignify the theme. 

Ye who amid this fev'rish world would wear 

A body free of pain, of cares a mind ; 

Fly the rank city, shun its turbid air ; 

Breathe not the chaos of eternal smoke 

And volatile corruption, from the dead, 

The dying, sick'ning, and the living world 

Exhal'd, to sully heaven's transparent dome 

With dim mortality. It is not air 

That from a thousand lungs reeks back to thine, 

Sated with exhalations, rank and fell, 

The spoils of dunghills, and the putrid thaw, 

Of nature ; when from shape and texture she 

Relapses into fighting elements : 

It is not air, but floats a nauseous mass 

Of all obscene, corrupt, offensive things. 

Much moisture hurts : but here a sordid bath, 

With oily rancor fraught, relaxes more 

The solid frame than simple moisture can. 

Besides, immur'd in many a sullen bay 

That never felt the freshness of the breeze, 

This slumb'ring Deep remains, and ranker grows 

With sickly rest : and (tho' the lungs abhor 

To drink the dun fuliginous abyss) 

Did not the acid vigor of the mine, 

Roll'd from so many thund'ring chimneys, tame 

The putrid streams that overswarm the sky; 

This caustic venom would perhaps corrode 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 33 

Those tender cells that draw the vital air, 
In vain with all their unctuous rills bedew'd ; 
Or, by the drunken venous tubes, that yawn 
In countless pores o'er all the pervious skin, 
Imbib'd, would poison the balsamic blood, 
And rouse the heart to every fever's rage. 
"While yet you breathe, away ; the rural wilds 
Invite ; the mountains call you, and the vales, 
The woods, the streams, and each ambrosial breeze 
That fans the ever-undulating sky ; 
A kindly sky, whose fost'ring pow'r regales 
Man, beast, and all the vegetable reign. 
Find then some woodland scene where Nature smiles 
Benign, where all the honest children thrive. 
To us there wants not many a happy seat : 
Look round the smiling land, such numbers rise 
We hardly fix, bewildered in our choice. 
See where enthron'd in adamantine state, 
Proud of her bards, imperial Windsor sits ; 
There choose thy seat in some aspiring grove 
Fast by the slowly-winding Thames ; or where 
Broader she leaves fair Richmond's green retreats 
(Richmond that sees an hundred villas rise 
Rural or gay). O ! from the summer's rage 
O ! wrap me in the friendly gloom that hides 
Umbrageous Ham ! But if the busy town 
Attract thee still to toil for power or gold, 
Sweetly thou may'st thy vacant hours possess 
In Hampstead, courted by the western wind; 
Or Greenwich, waving o'er the winding flood; 
Or lose the world amid the sylvan wilds 
Of Dulwich, yet by barb'rous arts unspoiled. 
Green rise the Kentish hills in cheerful air; 
3 



34 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

But on the marshy plains that Essex spreads 
Build not, nor rest too long thy wand'ring feet. 
For on a rustic throne of dewy turf, 
With baneful fogs her aching temples bound, 
Quartana there presides : a meagre fiend 
Begot by Eurus, when his brutal force 
Compress'd the slothful Naiad of the fens. 
From such a mixture sprung, this fitful pest 
With fev'rish blasts subdues the sickening land : 
Cold tremors come, with mighty love of rest, 
Convulsive yawnings, lassitude and pains 
That sting the burden'd brows, fatigue the loins, 
And rack the joints and every torpid limb ; 
Then parching heat succeeds, till copious sweats 
O'erflow : A short relief from former ills. 
Beneath repeated shocks the wretches pine; 
The vigor sinks, the habit melts away; 
The cheerful, pure, and animated bloom 
Dies from the face, with squalid atrophy 
Devoured, in sallow melancholy clad. 
And oft the Sorceress, in her sated wrath, 
Resigns them to the furies of her train ; 
The bloated Hydrops, and the yellow fiend 
Ting'd with her own accumulated gall. 

In quest of sites, avoid the mournful plain 
Where osiers thrive, and trees that love the lake 
Where many lazy muddy rivers flow : 
Nor for the wealth that all the Indies roll 
Fix near the marshy margin of the main. 
For from the humid soil and wat'ry reign 
Eternal vapors rise. The spongy air 
Forever weeps ; or turgid with the weight 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 35 

Of waters, pours a sounding deluge down. 
Skies such as these let ev'ry mortal shun 
Who dreads the dropsy, palsy, or the gout, 
Tertian, corrosive scurvy, or the moist catarrh ; 
Or any other injury that grows 
From raw-spun fibres, idle and unstrung, 
Skin ill-perspiring, and the purple flood 
In languid eddies loit'ring into phlegm. 

Yet not alone from humid skies we pine ; 
For air may be too dry. The subtle heaven, 
That winnows into dust the blasted downs, 
Bare and extended wide without a stream, 
Too fast imbibes th' attenuated lymph 
Which, by the surface, from the blood exhales. 
The lungs grow rigid, and with toil essay 
Their flexible vibrations ; or inflamed 
Their tender, ever-moving structure thaws, 
Spoil'd of its limpid vehicle, the blood 
A mass of lees remains, a drossy tide 
That slow as Lethe wanders thro' the veins : 
Unactive in the services of life, 
Unfit to lead its pitchy current through 
The secret mazy channels of the brain. 
The melancholic Fiend (that worst despair 
Of physic) hence the rust-complexion'd man 
Pursues, whose blood is dry, whose fibres gain 
Too stretch'd a tone ; and hence in climes a dust 
So sudden tumults seize the trembling nerves, 
And burning fevers glow with double rage. 

Fly, if you can, these violent extremes 

Of Air; the wholesome is nor moist nor dry. 



36 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

But as the power of choosing is deny'd 

To half mankind, a farther task ensues; 

How best to mitigate these fell extremes, 

How breathe unhurt the with'ring element, 

Or hazy atmosphere ; though Custom moulds 

To ev'ry clime the soft Promethean clay ; 

And he who first the fogs of Essex breath'd 

(So kind is native air) may in the fens 

Of Essex from the inveterate ills revive 

At pure Montpelier or Bermuda caught. 

But if the raw and oozy heaven offend, 

Correct the soil, and dry the sources up 

Of wat'ry exhalation ; wide and deep 

Conduct your trenches thro' the quaking bog ; 

Solicitous, with all your winding arts, 

Betray th' unwilling lake into a stream ; 

And weed the forest, and invoke the winds 

To break the toils where strangled vapors lie ; 

Or thro' the thickets send the crackling flames. 

Meantime at home with cheerful fire dispel 

The humid air : and let your table smoke 

With solid roast or bak'd ; or what the herds 

Of tamer breed supply, or what the wilds 

Yield to the toilsome pleasures of the chase, 

Generous your wine, the boast of rip'ning years 

But frugal be your cups : the languid frame, 

Vapid and sunk from yesterday's debauch, 

Shrinks from the cold embrace of wat'ry heaven. 

But neither these nor all Apollo's arts, 

Disarm the dangers of the dropping sky, 

Unless with exercise and manly toil 

You brace your nerves, and spur the lagging blood. 

The fat'ning clime let all the sons of ease 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 37 

Avoid ; if indolence would wise to live, 

Go, yawn and loiter out the long slow year 

In fairy skies. If droughty regions parch 

The skin and lungs, and bake the thick'ning blood ; 

Deep in the waving forest choose your seat 

Where fuming trees refresh the thirsty air ; 

And wake the fountains from their secret beds, 

And into lakes dilate the rapid stream. 

Here spread your gardens wide ; and let the cool, 

The moist relaxing vegetable store, 

Prevail in each repast : Your food supplied 

By bleeding life, be gently wasted down, 

By soft decoction and a mellowing heat, 

To liquid balm ; or, if the solid mass 

You choose, tormented in the boiling wave ; 

That thro' the thirsty channels of the blood 

A smooth diluted chyle may ever flow. 

The fragrant dairy from the cool recess 

Its nectar acid or benign will pour 

To drown your thirst ; or let the mantling bowl 

Of keen Sherbet the fickle taste relieve. 

For with the viscous blood the simple stream 

'Will hardly mingle; and fermented cups 

Oft dissipate more moisture than they give. 

Yet when pale seasons rise or winter rolls 

His horrors o'er the world, thou may'st indulge. 

In feasts more genial, and impatient broach 

The mellow cask. Then too the scourging air 

Provokes to keener toils than sultry droughts 

Allow. But rarely we such skies blaspheme. 

Steep'd in continual rains, or with raw fogs 

Bedew'd, our srasons droop, incumbent still 

A pond'rous heaven o'erwhelms the sinking soul. 



33 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

LaVring with storms in heapy mountains rise 
Th' imbattled clouds, as if the Stygian shades 
Had left the dungeon of eternal night, 
Till black with thunder all the south descends. 
Scarce in a showerless day the heav'ns indulge 
Our melting clime ; except the baleful East 
Withers the tender spring, and sourly checks 
The fancy of the year. Our fathers talk 
Of summers, balmy airs, and skies serene. 
Good Heaven! for what unexpiated crimes 
This dismal change ! The brooding elements, 
Do they, your powerful ministers of wrath, 
Prepare some fierce, exterminating plague "? 
Or is it fix'd in the Decrees above 
That lofty Albion melt into the main 1 
Indulgent nature ! O dissolve this gloom ; 
Bind in eternal adamant the winds 
That drown or wither: give the genial West 
To breathe, and in its turn the sprightly North : 
And may once more the circling seasons rule 
The year ; not mix in every monstrous day. 

Meantime the moist malignity to shun 

Of burthen'd skies ; mark where the dry champaign 

Swells into cheerful hills ; where Marjoram 

And Thyme, the love of bees, perfume the air ; 

And where the Cynorrhodon* with the rose 

For fragrance vies ; for in the thirsty soil 

Most fragrant breathe the aromatic tribes. 

There bid thy roofs high on the basking steep 

Ascend, there light thy hospitable fires, 

And let them see the winter morn arise, 

* The wild rose, or that which grows on the common brier. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 39 

The summer ev'ning blushing in the west ; 
"While with umbrageous oaks the ridge behind 
O'erhung, defends you from the blust'ring north, 
And bleak affliction of the peevish east. 
O ! when the growling winds contend, and all 
The sounding forest fluctuates in the storm ; 
To sink in warm repose, and hear the dim 
Howl o'er the steady battlements, delights 
Above the luxury of common sleep. 
The murmuring riv'let, and the hoarser strain 
Of waters rushing o'er the slippery rocks, 
Will nightly lull you to ambrosial rest. 
To please the fancy is no trifling good, 
Where health is studied ; for whatever moves 
The mind with calm delight, promotes the just 
And natural movements of the harmonious frame. 
Besides, the sportive brook forever shakes 
The trembling air ; that floats from hill to hill, 
From vale to mountain, with incessant change 
Of purest element, refreshing still 
Your airy seat, and uninfected gods. 
Chiefly for this I praise the man who builds 
High on the breezy ridge, whose lofty sides 
Th' ethereal deep with endless billows chafes. 
His purer mansion nor contagious years 
Shall reach, nor deadly putrid airs annoy. 

But may no fogs from lake or fenny plain, 
Involve my hill ! And wheresoe'er you build, 
Whether on sun-burnt Epsom, or the plains 
Wash'd by the silent Lee ; in Chelsea low, 
On high Blackheath with wintry winds assailed; 
Dry be your house : but airy more than warm. 



40 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Else every breath of ruder wind will strike 

Your tender body thro' with rapid pains ; 

Fierce coughs will tease you, hoarseness bind your 

voice, 
Or moist Gravedo load your aching brows. 
These to defy, and all the fates that dwell 
In cloister'd air, tainted with streaming life, 
Let lofty ceilings grace your ample rooms ; 
And still at azure noontide may your dome 
At every window drink the liquid sky. 

Need we the sunny situation here, 
And theatres open to the south, commend'? 
Here, where the morning's misty breath infests 
More than the torrid noon 1 How sickly grow, 
How pale, the plants in those ill-fated vales 
That, circled round with the gigantic heap 
Of mountains, never felt, nor ever hope 
To feel, the genial vigor of the sun ! 
While on the neighb'ring hill the rose inflames 
The verdant spring ; in verdant beauty blows 
The tender lily, languishingly sweet ; 
O'er every hedge the wanton woodbine roves, 
And autumn ripens in the summer's ray. 
Nor less the warmer living tribes demand 
The fost'ring sun; whose energy divine 
Dwells not in mortal fire ; whose gen'rous heat 
Glows thro' the mass of grosser elements, 
And kindles into life the ponderous spheres. 
Cheer'd by thy kind, invigorating warmth, 
We court thy beams, great majesty of day ! 
If not the soul, the regent of this world, 
First-born of heaven, and only less than God ! 



THE COMPLAINT OF THE STOMACH. 



41 







Mk*r*^2r 


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Hi 


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(H ~ ' ' 



THE COMPLAINT OF THE STOMACH. 



I fear, said the Stomach, addressing the Brain, 
That my efforts to serve you will soon be in vain ; 
For, such is the weight you compel me to bear, 
And such are the labors that fall to my share, 
That, unless in your wisdom you lighten the load, 
My strength must soon fail — I shall drop on the road. 

Then the cargo of viands in flesh, fowl, and fish, 

AVhich serve as a whet to some favorite dish, 

With the compound of peppers and sauces to aid, 

Or rather to force on the market a trade — 

Are really too much for my delicate frame ; 

And to burden me thus is an absolute shame. 

But I do not complain, altho' hard is my case, 

As many would do, were they put in my place, 

Nor am I so senseless as not to perceive 

That some other members have reason to grieve ; 

There 's your legs and your feet, that once bore you about, 

Are now useless ;is logs, with the dropsy or gout; 

And your hands are so feeble, you scarcely can puss 

To your neighbor the bottle, or fill him a glass. — 



42 THE COMPLAINT OF THE STOMACH. 

And further the Stomach had gone on to state, 
When the Tongue, 'tis imagined, took up the debate, 
" Did you speak to the Brain]" said a low piping voice ; 
(It was just before dinner), I much should rejoice 
To find such a being you wot of, my friend, 
But he and his measures have long had an end ; 
A nondescript substance now fills up the space 
In that once intellectual thought-breeding place. 
By some 't 'as been thought that your chymical skill 
(Which now, it is known, has the power to kill) 
And your fumes have destroyed all the power of 

thinking, 
So that no sense remains but of eating and drinking. 
What is said in the Bible has long been forgot, 
Of the passage which told, there was " Death in the 

pot." 
But the sauce is preparing to season the fish ; 
When too late 'twill be found, there is " Death in the 

dish." 



To render exercise appropriate, during health, it is 
necessary that motion be communicated to every part 
susceptible of it ; that the breast be dilated beyond the 
usual bounds of rest; that all the muscles attain the 
utmost degree of their extension and contraction ; that 
strength, of course, be exerted, and enjoy all its devel- 
opments. The effects of such exercise, when not carried 
to the extent of producing undue fatigue, are to promote 
the circulation of the fluids throughout the body, to 
render the digestion of food more easy and perfect, to 
insure the nutrition of every part of the system, and to 
enable perspiration and the other excretions to take 
place with regularity. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 43 

THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Book II. 

DIET. 

Enough of Air. A desert subject now, 
Rougher and wilder, rises to my sight ; 
A barren waste, where not a garland grows 
To bind the Muse's brow ; not e'en a proud, 
Stupendous solitude frowns o'er the heath, 
To rouse a noble horror in the soul : 
But rugged paths fatigue, and error leads 
Through endless labyrinths the devious feet. 
Farewell, ethereal fields! the humbler arts 
Of life ; the table of the homely Gods 
Demand my song : Elysian gales, adieu ! 

The blood, the fountain whence the spirits flow, 
The generous stream that waters every part, 
And motion, vigor, and warm life conveys 
To every particle that moves or lives ; 
This vital fluid, through unnumbered tubes 
Pour'd by the heart, and to the heart again 
Refunded; scourg'd forever round and round; 
Enrag'd with heat and toil, at last forgets 
Its balmy nature ; virulent and thin 
It grows; and now, but that a thousand gates 
Arc open to its flight, it would destroy 
The parts it cherish'd, and repair'd before. 
Besides, tin* flexible and tender tubes 
Melt in the mildest, most nectareous tide 



44 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

That ripening nature rolls, as in the stream 
Its crumbling banks ; but what the vital force 
Of plastic fluids hourly batters down, 
That very force, those plastic particles 
Rebuild : so mutable the state of man ! 
For this the watchful appetite was giv'n, 
Daily, with fresh materials, to repair 
This unavoidable expense of life, 
This necessary waste of flesh and blood. 
Hence the concoctive powers, with various art, 
Subdue the cruder aliments to chyle ; 
The chyle to blood ; the foamy purple tide 
To liquors, which, through finer arteries, 
To different parts their winding course pursue ; 
To try new changes, and new forms put on, 
Or for the public, or some private use. 

Nothing so foreign but th' athletic hind 
Can labor into blood. The hungry meal 
Alone he fears, or aliments too thin ; 
By violent powers too easily subdued, 
Too soon expell'd. His daily labor thaws, 
To friendly chyle, the most rebellious mass 
That salt can harden, or the smoke of years ; 
Nor does his gorge the rancid bacon rue, 
Nor that which Cestria sends, tenacious paste 
Of solid milk. But ye of softer clay, 
Infirm and delicate ! and ye who waste, 
With pale and bloated sloth, the tedious day ! 
Avoid the stubborn aliment, avoid 
The full repast ; and let sagacious age 
Grow wiser, lesson'd by the dropping teeth. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 45 

Half subtiliz'd to chyle, the liquid food 

Readiest obeys th' assimilating powers ; 

And soon the tender vegetable mass 

Relents ; and soon the young of those that tread 

The steadfast earth, or cleave the green abyss, 

Or pathless sky. And if the steer must fall, 

In youth and sanguine vigor let him die ; 

Xor stay till rigid age, or heavy ails, 

Absolve him, ill requited, from the yoke. 

Some with high forage, and luxuriant ease, 

Indulge the veteran ox; but wiser thou, 

From the bald mountain or the barren downs, 

Expect the flocks by frugal nature fed; 

A race of purer blood, with exercise 

Refln'd and scanty fare ; for, old or young, 

The stall'd are never healthy ; nor the cramm'd : 

Not all the culinary arts can tame, 

To wholesome food, the abominable growth 

Of rest and gluttony ; the prudent taste 

Rejects, like bane, such loathsome lusciousness. 

The languid stomach curses e'en the pure 

Delicious fat, and all the race of oil : 

For more the oily aliments relax 

Its feeble tone ; and with the eager lymph 

(Fond to incorporate with all it meets) 

Coyly they mix, and shun with slippery wiles 

The woo'd embrace. Th' irresoluble oil, 

So gentle late, and blandishing, in floods 

Of rancid bile o'crnows : what tumults hence, 

What horrors rise, were nauseous to relate. 

Choose leaner viands, ye whose jovial make 

Too fast the gummy nutriment imbibes : 

Choose sober meals ; and rouse to active life 



46 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Your cumbrous clay ; nor on th' infeebling down, 
Irresolute, protract the morning hours. 
But let the man whose bones are thinly clad, 
With cheerful ease and succulent repast 
Improve his habit if he can ; for each 
Extreme departs from perfect sanity. 

I could relate what table this demands, 

Or that complexion ; what the various powers 

Of various foods : but fifty years would roll, 

And fifty more, before the tale were done. 

Besides, there often lurks some nameless, strange, 

Peculiar thing ; nor on the skin display'd, 

Felt in the pulse, nor in the habit seen ; 

Which finds a poison in the food, that most 

The temp'rature affects. There are, whose blood 

Impetuous rages through the turgid veins, 

Who better bear the fiery fruits of Ind, 

Than the moist Melon, or pale Cucumber. 

Of chilly nature others fly the board 

Supply' d with slaughter, and the vernal powers, 

For cooler, kinder, sustenance implore. 

Some e'en the generous nutriment detest 

Which, in the shell, the sleeping embryo rears. 

Some, more unhappy still, repent the gifts 

Of Pales ; soft, delicious, and benign : 

The balmy quintescence of every flower, 

And every grateful herb that decks the spring ; 

The fost'ring dew of tender sprouting life ; 

The best refection of declining age ; 

The kind restorative of those who lie 

Half dead, and panting, from the doubtful strife 

Of nature struggling in the grasp of death. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 47 

Try all the bounties of this fertile globe, 

There is not such a salutary food 

As suits with every stomach. But (except, 

Amid the mingled mass of fish and fowl, 

And boil'd and bak'd, you hesitate by which 

You sunk oppress'd, or whether not by all) 

Taught by experience soon you may discern 

What pleases, what offends. Avoid the cates 

That lull the sicken'd appetite too long ; 

Or heave with feverish flushings all the face, 

Burn in the palms, and parch the rough'ning tongue ; 

Or much diminish, or too much increase 

Th' expense, which nature's wise economy, 

Without or waste or avarice, maintains. 

Such cates abjur'd, let prowling hunger loose, 

And bid the curious palate roam at will ; 

They scarce can err amid the various stores 

That burst the teeming entrails of the world. 

Led by sagacious taste, the ruthless King 
Of beasts on blood and slaughter only lives ; 
The tiger, form'd alike to cruel meals 
Would at a manger starve : of milder seeds 
The generous horse to herbage and to grain 
Confines his wish ; though fabling Greece resound 
The Thracian steeds with human carnage wild. 
Prompted by instinct's never-erring power, 
Each creature knows its proper aliment ; 
But man, the inhabitant of every clime, 
With all the commoners of nature feeds. 
Directed, bounded, by this power within, 
Their cravings are well aim'd : voluptuous man 
Is by superior faculties misled ; 



48 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Misled from pleasure e'en in quest of joy. 

Sated, with nature's boons, what thousands seek, 

With dishes tortured from their native taste, 

And mad variety to spur beyond 

Its wiser will the jaded appetite] 

Is this for pleasure 1 Learn a juster taste ; 

And know that temperance is true luxury, 

Or is it pride 1 Pursue some nobler aim. 

Dismiss your parasites, who praise for hire ; 

And earn the fair esteem of honest men, 

Whose praise is fame. Form'd of such clay as yours, 

The sick, the needy, shiver at your gates. 

E'en modest want may bless your hand unseen, 

Though hush'd in patient wretchedness at home. 

Is there no virgin, grac'd with every charm 

But that which binds the mercenary vow % 

No youth of genius, whose neglected bloom, 

Unfoster'd, sickens in the barren shade % 

No worthy man, by fortune's random blows, 

Or by a heart too generous and humane, 

Constrain'd to leave his happy natal seat, 

And sigh for wants more bitter than his own \ 

There are, while human miseries abound, 

A thousand ways to waste superfluous wealth, 

Without one fool or flatterer at your board, 

Without one hour of sickness or disgust. 

But other ills th' ambiguous feast pursue, 

Besides provoking the lascivious taste. 

Such various foods, though harmless each alone, 

Each other violate ; and oft we see 

What strife is brew'd, and what pernicious bane, 

From combinations of innoxious things. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 49 

Th' unbounded taste I mean not to confine 

To hermit's diet, needlessly severe. 

But would you long the sweets of health enjoy, 

Or husband pleasure ; at one impious meal 

Exhaust not half the bounties of the year, 

Of every realm. It matters not meanwhile 

How much to-morrow differ from to-day, 

So far indulge : 'tis fit, besides, that man, 

To change obnoxious, be to change inur'd. 

But stay the curious appetite, and taste 

With caution fruits you never tried before. 

For want of use the kindest aliment 

Sometimes offends ; while custom tames the rage 

Of poison to mild amity with life. 

So Heav'n has form'd us to the general taste 
Of all its gifts; so custom has improv'd 
This bent of nature ; that few simple foods, 
Of all that earth, or air, or ocean yield, 
But by excess offend. Beyond the sense 
Of light refection, at the genial board 
Indulge not often ; nor protract the feast 
To dull satiety ; till soft and slow 
A drowsy death creeps on, th' expansive soul 
Opprcss'd and smother'd the celestial fire. 
The stomach, urg'd beyond its active tone, 
Hardly to nutrimcntal chyle subdues 
The softest food : unfinish'd and depraved, 
The chyle, in all its future wanderings, owns 
Its turbid fountain ; not by purer streams 
So to be clear'd but foulness will remain. 
To sparkling what ferment can exalt 
4 



50 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

The unripen'd grape 1 Or what mechanic skill 
From the crude ore can spin the ductile gold \ 

Gross riot treasures up a wealthy fund 

Of plagues ; but more immedicable ills 

Attend the lean extreme. For physic knows 

How to disburden the two tumid veins, 

Even how to ripen the half labor'd blood: 

But to unlock the elemental tubes, 

Collaps'd and shrunk with long inanity, 

And with balsamic nutriment repair 

The dried and worn-out habit, were to bid 

Old age grow green, and wear a second spring ; 

Or the tall ash, long ravish'd from the soil, 

Through wither'd veins imbibe the vernal dew. 

"When hunger calls, obey ; nor often wait 

Till hunger sharpen to corrosive pain : 

For the keen appetite will feast beyond 

What nature well can bear ; and one extreme 

Ne'er without danger meets its own reverse 

Too greedily th' exhausted veins absorb 

The recent chyle, and load enfeebled powers 

Oft to th' extinction of the vital flame. 

To the pale cities, by the firm-set siege, 

And famine, humbled, may this verse be borne ; 

And hear, ye hardiest sons that Albion breeds. 

Long toss'd and famish'd on the wintry main ; 

The war shook off, or hospitable shore 

Attain'd, with temperance bear the shock of joy; 

Nor crown with festive rites the auspicious day: 

Such feast might prove more fatal than the waves, 

Than war or famine. While the vital fire 

Burns feebly, heap not the green fuel on ; 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 51 

But prudently foment the wandering spark 
With what the soonest feels its kindred touch : 
Be frugal e'en of that ; a little give 
At first ; that kindled, add a little more ; 
Till, by deliberate nourishing, the flame, 
Revived, with all its wonted vigor glows. 

But tho' the two (the full and the jejune) 

Extremes have each their vice ; it much avails 

Ever with gentle tide to ebb and flow 

From this to that : So nature learns to bear 

"Whatever chance or headlong appetite 

May bring. Besides, a meagre day subdues 

The cruder clods by sloth or luxury 

Collected, and unloads the wheels of life. 

Sometimes a coy aversion to the feast 

Comes on, while yet no blacker omen lowers ; 

Then is a time to shun the tempting board, 

Were it your natal or your nuptial day. 

Perhaps a fast so seasonable starves 

The latent seed of woe, which, rooted once, 

Might cost you labor. But the day return'd 

Of festal luxury, the wise indulge 

Most in the tender vegetable breed ; 

Then chiefly when the summer beams inflame 

The brazen heavens ; or angry Sirius sheds 

A feverish taint thro' the still gulph of air ; 

The moist cool viands then, and flowing cup 

From the fresh dairy virgin's liberal hand, 

Will save your head from harm, tho' round the world 

The dreaded Causos* roll his wasteful fires. 

* The burning fever. 



52 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Pale humid Winter loves the generous board, 
The meal more copious, and a warmer fare ; 
And longs with old wood, and old wine to cheer 
His quaking heart. The seasons which divide 
Th' empires of heat and cold ; by neither claim'd, 
Influenc'd by both, a middle regimen 
Impose. Thro' autumn's languishing domain 
Descending, nature by degrees invites 
To glowing luxury. But, from the depth 
Of winter, when th' invigorated year 
Emerges ; when Favonius, flush'd with love, 
Toyful and young, in every breeze descends 
More warm and wanton on his kindling bride, 
Then, shepherds, then begin to spare your flocks; 
And learn, with wise humanity, to check 
The lust of blood. Now pregnant earth commits 
A various offspring to th' indulgent sky ; 
Now bounteous nature feeds with lavish hand 
The prone creation, yields what once sufhc'd 
Their dainty sovereign, when the world was young, 
Ere yet the barbarous thirst of blood had seiz'd 
The human breast. Each rolling month matures 
The food that suits it most, so does each clime. 

Far in the horrid realms of winter, where 
Th' establish'd ocean heaps a monstrous waste 
Of shining rocks and mountains to the pole ; 
There lives a hardy race, whose plainest wants 
Relentless earth, their cruel step-mother, 
Regards not. On the waste of iron fields, 
Untam'd, intractable, no harvests wave : 
Pomona hates them, and the clownish god 
Who tends the garden. In this frozen world 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 53 

Such cooling gifts were vain : a fitter meal 

Is earn'd with ease ; for here the fruitful spawn 

Of Ocean swarms, and heaps their genial board 

With generous fare, and luxury profuse. 

These are their bread, the only bread they know ; 

These, and their willing slave the deer, that crops 

The scrubby herbage on their meagre hills, 

Or scales, for fattening moss, the savage rocks. 

Girt by the burning Zone, not thus the South 

Her swarthy sons, in either Ind, maintains ; 

Or thirsty Libya ; from whose fervid loins 

The lion bursts, and every fiend that roams 

Th' affrighted wilderness. The mountain herd, 

Adust and dry, no sweet repast affords ; 

Xor does the tepid Main such kinds produce, 

So perfect, so delicious, as the shoals 

Of icy Zembla. Rashly where the blood 

Brews feverish frays ; where scarce the tubes sustain 

Its tumid fervor and tempestuous course; 

Kind nature tempts not to such gifts as these. 

But here in livid ripeness melts the Grape ; 

Here, finished by invigorating suns, 

Thro' the green shade the golden Orange glows ; 

Spontaneous here the turgid Melon yields 

A generous pulp ; the Cocoa swells on high 

With milky riches, and in horrid mail 

The crisp Ananas wraps its poignant sweets: 

Earth's vaunted progeny — In ruder air 

Too coy to flourish, e'en too proud to live; 

Or hardly rais'd by artificial fire 

To vapid life. Here with a mother's smile 

Glad Amalthea pours her copious horn; 

Here buxom Ceres reigns; th' autumnal sea 



54 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH 

In boundless billows fluctuates o'er their plains. 

What suits the climate best, what suits the men, 

Nature profuses most, and most the taste 

Demands. The fountain, edg'd with racy wine 

Or acid fruit, bedews their thirsty souls. 

The breeze eternal breathing round their limbs 

Supports in else intolerable air : 

While the cool Palm, the Plantain, and the grove 

That waves on gloomy Lebanon, assuage 

The torrid hell that beams upon their heads. 

Now come, ye Naiads, to the fountains lead ; 

Now let me wander through your gelid reign : 

I burn to view th' enthusiastic wilds 

By mortal else untrod. I hear the din 

Of waters thundering o'er the ruin'd cliffs. 

With holy reverence I approach the rocks 

Whence glide the streams renown'd in ancient song. 

Here from the desert down the rumbling steep 

First springs the Nile ; here bursts the sounding Po 

In angry waves ; Euphrates hence devolves 

A mighty flood to water half the East ; 

And there, in Gothic solitude reclin'd, 

The cheerless Tanais pours his hoary urn. 

What solemn twilight ! What stupendous shades 

Enwrap these infant floods ! Thro' every nerve 

A sacred horror thrills, a pleasing fear 

Glides o'er my frame. The forest deepens round ; 

And more gigantic still th' impending trees 

Stretch their extravagant arms athwart the gloom. 

Are these the confines of some fairy world 1 

A land of Genii'? Say, beyond these wilds 

What unknown nations % If indeed beyond 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 55 

Aught habitable lies. And whither leads, 
To what strange regions, or of bliss or pain, 
That subterraneous way \ Propitious maids, 
Conduct me, while with fearful steps I tread 
This trembling ground. The task remains to sing 
Your gifts (so Paean, so the powers of health 
Command) to praise your crystal element : 
The chief ingredient in Heaven's various works ; 
"Whose flexile genius sparkles in the gem, 
Grows firm in oak, and fugitive in wine ; 
The vehicle, the source of nutriment 
And life, to all that vegetate or live. 

O comfortable streams ! with eager lips 

And trembling hand the languid thirsty quaff 

New life in you ; fresh vigor fills their veins. 

No warmer cups the rural ages knew ; 

None warmer sought the sires of human kind. 

Happy in temperate peace ! Their equal days 

Felt not th' alternate fits of feverish mirth, 

And. sick dejection! Still serene and pleas'd 

They knew no pains but what the tender soul 

With pleasure yields to, and would ne'er forget. 

Blest with divine immunity from ails, 

Long centuries they liv'd ; their only fate 

Was ripe old age, and rather sleep than death. 

Oh ! could those worthies from the world of gods 

Return to visit their degenerate sons, 

How would they scorn the joys of modern time 

With all our art and toil improv'd to pain ! 

Too happy they ! But wealth brought luxury, 

And luxury on sloth begot disease. 



56 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Learn temperance, friends ; and hear without disdain 

The choice of water. Thus the Coan sage* 

Opin'd, and thus the learn'd of every school. 

What least of foreign principles partakes 

Is best : the lightest then ; what bears the touch 

Of fire the least, and soonest mounts in air ; 

The most insipid ; the most void of smell. 

Such the rude mountain from his horrid sides 

Pours down ; such waters in the sandy vale 

Forever boil, alike of winter's frost 

And summer's heat secure. The crystal stream 

Thro' rocks resounding, or for many a mile 

O'er the chaf 'd pebbles hurl'd, yields wholesome, pure 

And mellow draughts ; except when winter thaws, 

And half the mountains melt into the tide. 

Though thirst we e'er so resolute, avoid 

The sordid lake, and all such drowsy floods 

As fill from Lethe Belgia's slow canals 

(With rest corrupt, with vegetation green; 

Squallid with generation, and the birth 

Of little monsters) ; till the power of fire 

Has from profane embraces disengag'd 

The violated lymph. The virgin stream 

In boiling wastes its finer soul in air. 

Nothing like simple element dilutes 
The food, or gives the chyle so soon to flow. 
But where the stomach, indolent and cold, 
Toys with its duty, animate with wine 
Th' insipid stream ; the golden Ceres yields 

* Hippocrates. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 57 

A more voluptuous, a more sprightly draught ; 

Perhaps more active. Wine unmix'd, and all 

The gluey floods that from the vex'd abyss 

Of fermentation spring ; with spirit fraught, 

And furious with intoxicating fire ; 

Retard concoction, and preserve unthaw'd 

Th' embodied mass. You see what countless years 

Embalmed in fiery quintescence of wine, 

The puny wonders of the reptile world, 

The tender rudiments of life, the slim 

Unravellings of minute anatomy, 

Maintain their texture, and unchanged remain. 

We curse not wine ; the vile excess we blame ; 
More fruitful than th' accumulated board, 
Of pain and misery. For the subtle draught 
Faster and surer, swells the vital tide ; 
And with more active poison, than the floods 
Of grosser crudity convey, pervades 
The fur-remote meanders of our frame. 
Ah ! sly deceiver ! ' branded o'er and o'er, 
Yet still believ'd ! exulting o'er the wreck 
Of sober vows ! — But the Parnassian maids 
Another time,* perhaps, shall sing the joys, 
The fatal charms, the many woes of wine ; 
Perhaps its various tribes, and various powers. 

Meantime, I would not always dread the bowl, 
Nor every trespass shun. The feverish strife, 
Unused by the rare debauch, subdues, expels 
The loitering crudities that burden life ; 

* Sec Book iv. 



58 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH 

And like a torrent full and rapid, clears 

Th' obstructed tubes. Besides, this restless world 

Is full of chances, which by habit's power 

To learn to bear, is easier than to shun. 

Ah ! when ambition, meagre love of gold, 

Or sacred country calls, with mellowing wine 

To moisten well the thirsty suffrages : 

Say how, unseason'd to the midnight frays 

Of Comus and his rout, wilt thou contend 

With Centaurs long to hardy deeds inur'd X 

Then learn to revel ; but by slow degrees : 

By slow degrees the liberal arts are one ; 

And Hercules grew strong. But when you smooth 

The brows of care, indulge your festive vein 

In cups by well-inform'd experience found 

The least your bane ; and only with your friends. 

There are sweet follies : frailties to be seen 

By friends alone, and men of generous minds. 

Oh ! seldom may the fated hours return 
Of drinking deep ! I would not daily taste, 
Except when life declines, even sober cups. 
Weak withering age no rigid law forbids, 
With frugal nectar, smooth and slow with balm, 
The sapless habit daily to beclew, 
And give the hesitating wheels of life 
Gliblier to play. But youth has better joys : 
And is it wise, when youth with pleasure flows, 
To squander the reliefs of age and pain ? 

What dextrous thousands just within the goal 
Of wild debauch direct their nightly course ? 
Perhaps no sickly qualms bedim their days, 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 59 

Xo morning admonitions shock the head. 

But ah ! what woes remain ! Life rolls apace, 

And that incurable disease, old age, 

In youthful bodies more severely felt, 

More sternly active, shakes their blasted prime : 

Except kind nature by some hasty blow 

Prevent the lingering fates. For know whate'er 

Beyond its natural fervor hurries on 

The sanguine tide ; whether the frequent bowl, 

High-season'd fare, or exercise to toil 

Protracted ; spurs to its last stage tir'd life, 

And sows the temples with untimely snow 

"When life is new, the ductile fibres feel 

The heart's increasing force ; and, day by day, 

The growth advances ; till the larger tubes, 

Acquiring (from their elemental veins, 

Condens'd to solid chords*) a firmer tone, 

Sustain, and just sustain, th' impetuous blood. 

Here stops the growth. "With overbearing pulse 

And pressure, still the great destroy the small ; 

Still with the ruins of the small grow strong. 

Life glows meantime, amid the grinding force 

Of viscous fluids and elastic tubes ; 

Its various functions vigorously are plied 

By strong machinery ; and in solid health 

* In the human body as well as in those of other animals, the larger blood- 
are composed of smaller ones; which, by the violent motion and press- 

ure of the fluids in the large vessels, lose their cavities by degrees, and de- 
generate into impervious chords or fibres. In proportion asthesesmall vessels 
become solid, the larger must of course grow less extensile, more rigid, and 
make a stronger resistance to the action of the heart, and force of the blood. 
From this gradual condensation of the smaller vessels, and consequent rigid- 
ity of Hi" larger ones, the progress of the human body, from infancy to old 
ccouuted for. 



60 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH 

The man confirm'd long triumphs o'er disease. 

But the full ocean ebbs ; there is a point, 

By nature fix'd, whence life must downward tend. 

For still the beating tide consolidates 

The stubborn vessels, more reluctant still 

To the weak throbs of the ill-supported heart. 

This languishing, these strength'ning by degrees 

To hard unyielding unelastic bone, 

Through tedious channels the congealing flood 

Crawls lazily, and hardly wanders on ; 

It loiters still : and now it stirs no more. 

This is the period few attain ; the death 

Of nature ; thus (so Heav'n ordain'd it) life 

Destroys itself; and could these laws have chang'd 

Nestor might now the fates of Troy relate ; 

And Homer live immortal as his song. 

What does not fade 1 The tower that long had stood 

The crash of thunder and the warring winds, 

Shook by the slow but sure destroyer Time, 

Now hangs in doubtful ruins o'er its base, 

And flinty pyramids, and walls of brass, 

Descend: the Babylonian spires are sunk; 

Achaia, Home, and Egypt moulder down. 

Time shakes the stable tyranny of thrones, 

And tottering empires rush by their own weight. 

This huge rotundity we tread grows old, 

And all those worlds that roll around the sun, 

The sun himself, shall die, and ancient night 

Again involve the desolate abyss : 

Till the great Father thro' the lifeless gloom 

Extend his arm to light another world, 

And bid new planets roll by other laws. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 61 

For thro' the regions of unbounded space, 

"Where unconfin'd Omnipotence has room, 

Being, in various systems, fluctuates still 

Between creation and abhor'd decay: 

It ever did : perhaps and ever will. 

New worlds are still emerging from the deep ; 

The old descending, in their turns to rise. 



Fasting. — Distinct from religious ordinances and an- 
chorite zeal, fasting has been frequently recommended 
and practised, as a means of removing incipient disease, 
and of restoring the body to its customary healthful 
sensations. Howard, the celebrated philanthropist, used 
to fast one day in the week. Franklin for a period did 
the same. Napoleon, when he felt his system unstrung, 
suspended his wonted repast, and took exercise on horse- 
back. The list of distinguished names might, if neces- 
sary, be increased, but "why adduce authority in favor of 
a practice which the instinct of the brute creation leads 
them to adopt, whenever they are sick"? Happily for 
them, they have no meddling prompters in the shape of 
well-meaning friends, to force a stomach already enfee- 
bled and loathing its customary food, to digest this or 
that delicacy — soup, jelly, custard, chocolate, and the 
like. It would be a singular fashion, and yet to the full 
as rational as the one just mentioned, if on eyes weak- 
ened by long exercise in a common light, we were to 
direct a stream of blue, or violet, or red, or even green 
light through a prism, in place of keeping them carefully 
shaded and at rest. 



62 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Book III. 

EXERCISE. 

Thro' various toils th' adventurous Muse has past ; 
But half the toil, and more than half, remains.- 
Rude is her theme, and hardly fit for song ; 
Plain and of little ornament ; and I 
But little practis'd in th' Aonian arts : 
Yet not in vain such labors have we tried, 
If aught these lays the fickle health confirm. 
To you, ye delicate, I write ; for you 
I tame my youth to philosophic cares, 
And grow still paler by the midnight lamps. 
Not to debilitate with timorous rules 
A hardy frame ; nor needlessly to brave 
Inglorious dangers, proud of mortal strength, 
Is all the lesson that in wholesome years 
Concerns the strong. His care were ill bestow'd 
Who would with warm effeminacy nurse 
The thriving oak which on the mountain's brow 
Bears all the blasts that sweep the wintry heav'n. 
Behold the laborer of the glebe who toils 
In dust, in rain, in cold and sultry skies : 
Save but the grain from mildews and the flood, 
Nought anxious he what sickly stars ascend. 
He knows no laws by Esculapius given ; 
He studies none. Yet him nor midnight fogs 
Infest, nor those envenom'd shafts that fly 
"When rapid Sirius fires the autumnal noon. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 63 

His habit pure with plain and temperate meals, 

Robust with labor, and by custom steel'd 

To every casualty of varied life ; 

Serene he bears the peevish eastern blast 

And uninfected breathes the mortal south. 

Such the reward of rude and sober life ; 

Of labor such. By health the peasant's toil 

Is well repaid ; if exercise were pain 

Indeed, and temperance pain. By arts like these 

Laconia nurs'd of old her hardy sons ; 

And Rome's unconquer'd legions urg'd their way, 

Unhurt, through every toil in every clime. 

Toil, and be strong. By toil the flaccid nerves 
Grow firm, and gain a more compacted tone ; 
The greener juices are by toil subdu'd, 
Mellow'd, and subtiliz'd, the vapid old 
Expell'd, and all the rancor of the blood. 
Come, my companions, ye who feel the charms 
Of nature and the year ; come, let us stray 
Where chance or fancy leads our roving walk : 
Come, while the soft voluptuous breezes fan 
The fleecy heavens, enwrap the limbs in balm, 
And shed a charming languor o'er the soul. 
Nor when bright Winter sows with prickly frost 
The vigorous ether, in unmanly warmth 
Indulge at home; nor even when Eurus' blasts 
This way and that convolve the lab'ring woods. 
My liberal walks, save when the skies in rain 
Or fogs relent, no season should confine 
Or to the cloister'd gallery or arcade. 
Go, climb the mountain; from th' ethereal source 



64 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Imbibe the recent gale. The cheerful morn 
Beams o'er the hills; go, mount th' exulting steed; 
Already, see, the deep-mouth'd beagles catch 
The tainted mazes ; and on eager sport 
Intent, with emulous impatience try 
Each doubtful trace. Or if a nobler prey 
Delight you more, go chase the desperate deer ; 
And through its deepest solitudes awake 
The vocal forest with the jovial horn. 

But if the breathless chase o'er hill and dale 

Exceed your strength ; a sport of less fatigue, 

Nor less delightful, the prolific stream 

Affords. The crystal rivulet, that o'er 

A stony channel rolls its rapid maze, 

Swarms with the silver fry. Such, thro' the bounds 

Of pastoral Stafford, runs the brawling Trent ; 

Such Eden, sprung from Cumbrian mountains ; such 

The Esk, o'erhung with woods; and such the stream 

On whose Arcadian banks I first drew air, 

Liddel ; till now, except in Doric lays 

Tun'd to her murmurs by her love-sick swains, 

Unknown in song ; though not a purer stream, 

Thro' meads more flowery, more romantic groves, 

Rolls towards the western main. Hail, sacred flood ! 

May still thy hospitable swains be blest 

In rural innocence ; thy mountains still 

Teem with the fleecy race ; thy tuneful woods 

For ever flourish ; and thy vales look gay 

With painted meadows and the golden grain ! 

Oft, with thy blooming sons, when life was new, 

Sportive and petulant, and charm'd with toys, 

In thy transparent eddies have I lav'd : 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 65 

Oft traced with patient steps thy fairy banks, 

With the well-imitated fly to hook 

The eager trout, and with the slender line 

And yielding rod solicit to the shore 

The struggling, panting prey : while vernal clouds 

And tepid gales obscur'd the ruffled pool, 

And from the deeps call'd forth the wanton swarms. 

Form'd on the Samian school, or those of Ind, 
There are who think these pastimes scarce humane. 
Yet in my mind (and not relentless I) 
His life is pure that wears no fouler stains. 
But if, thro' genuine tenderness of heart, 
Or secret want of relish for the game, 
You shun the glories of the chase, nor care 
To haunt the peopled stream ; the garden yields 
A soft amusement, an humane delight. 
To raise th' insipid nature of the ground ; . 
Or tame its savage genius to the grace 
Of careless sweet rusticity, that seems 
The amiable result of happy chance, 
Is to create ; and gives a god-like joy, 
Which every year improves. Nor thou disdain 
To check the lawless riot of the trees, 
To plant the grove, or turn the barren mould. 
Oh happy he ! whom, when his years decline 
(His fortune and his fame by worthy means 
Attuin'd, and equal to his moderate mind ; 
His life approv'd by all the wise and good, 
Even envied by the vain), the peaceful groves 
Of Epicurus, from this stormy world, 
Receive to rest ; of all ungrateful cares 
Absolv'd, and sacred from the selfish crowd. 
5 



Q6 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Happiest of men ! if the same soil invites 
A chosen few, companions of his youth, 
Once fellow-rakes, perhaps, now rural friends ; 
With whom, in easy commerce, to pursue 
Nature's free charms, and vie for sylvan fame : 
A fair ambition ; void of strife or guile, 
Or jealousy, or pain to be outdone. 
Who plans th' enchanted garden, who directs 
The vista best, and best conducts the stream ; 
Whose groves the fastest thicken and ascend ; 
Who first the welcome spring salutes ; who shows 
The earliest bloom, the sweetest proudest charms 
Of Flora; who best gives Pomona's juice 
To match the sprightly genius of Champaign. 
Thrice happy days ! in rural business past ; 
Blest winter nights ! when, as the genial fire 
Cheers the wide hall, his cordial family 
With soft domestic arts the hours beguile, 
And pleasing talk that starts no timorous fame, 
With witless wantonness to hunt it down : 
Or through the fairyland of tale or song 
Delighted, wander, in fictitious fates 
Engag'd, and all that strikes humanity : 
Till lost in fable, they the stealing hour 
Of timely rest forget. Sometimes, at eve, 
His neighbors lift the latch, and bless unbid 
His festal roof; while, o'er the light repast, 
And sprightly cups, they mix in social joy ; 
And thro' the maze of conversation trace 
Whate'er amuses or improves the mind. 
Sometimes at eve (for I delight to taste 
The native zest and flavor of the fruit, 
Where sense grows wild and takes of no manure) 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 67 

The decent, honest, cheerful husbandman 
Should drown his labor in my friendly bowl 
And at my table find himself at home. 

Whate'er you study, in whate'er you sweat, 
Indulge your taste. Some love the manly foils ; 
The tennis some ; and some the graceful dance. 
Others, more hardy, range the purple heath 
Or naked stubble — where from field to field 
The sounding coveys urge their laboring flight- 
Eager amid the rising cloud to pour 
The gun's unerrinsr thunder ; and there are 
Whom still the meed* of the green archer charms. 
He chooses best, whose labor entertains 
His vacant fancy most : the toil you hate 
Fatigues you soon, and scarce improves your limbs. 

As beauty still has blemish ; and the mind 
The most accomplish'd its imperfect side ; 
Few bodies are there of that happy mould 
But some one part is Sveaker than the rest ; 
The legs, perhaps, or arms refuse their load, 
Or the chest labors. These assiduously, 
But gently, in their proper arts employ'd 
Acquire a vigor and elastic spring 
To which they were not born. But weaker parts 
Abhor fatigue and violent discipline. 

Begin with gentle toils ; and as your nerves 
Grow firm, to hardier by just steps aspire. 
The prudent, even in every moderate walk, 

* This word is much used by some of the old English poets, and signifies 
reward or prize. 



63 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

At first but saunter ; and by slow degrees 
Increase their pace. This doctrine of the wise 
Well knows the master of the flying steed. 
First from the goal the manag'd coursers play 
On bended reins ; as yet the skilful youth 
Repress their foamy pride ; but every breath 
The race grows warmer, and the tempest swells 
Till all the fiery mettle has its way, 
And the thick thunder hurries o'er the plain. 
When all at once from indolence to toil 
You spring, the fibres by the hasty shock 
Are tir'd and crack'd, before their unctuous coats, 
Compress'd, can pour the lubricating balm. 
Besides, collected in the passive veins, 
The purple mass a sudden torrent rolls, 
O'erpowers the heart, and deluges the lungs 
With dangerous inundation ; oft the source 
Of fatal woes ; a cough that foams with blood, 
Asthma, and feller Peripneumony,* 
Or the slow minings of the hectic fire. 

Th' athletic Fool, to whom what Heav'n denied 

Of soul is well compensated in limbs, 

Oft from his rage, or brainless frolic, feels 

His vegetation and brute force decay. 

The men of better clay and finer mould 

Know nature, feel the human dignity; 

And scorn to vie with oxen and with apes. 

Pursued prolixly, even the gentlest toil 

Is waste of health ; repose by small fatigue 

Is earn'd ; and (where your habit is not prone 

* The inflammation of the lungs. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 69 

To thaw) by the first moisture of the brows. 

The fine and subtle spirits cost too much 

To be profus'd, too much the roscid balm. 

But when the hard varieties of life 

You toil to learn ; or try the dusty chase, 

Or the warm deeds of some important day ; 

Hot from the field, indulge not yet your limbs 

In wished repose ; nor court the fanning gale, 

Nor taste the spring. O ! by the sacred tears 

Of widows, orphans, mothers, sisters, sires, 

Forbear ! No other pestilence has driven 

Such Myriads o'er th' irremeable deep. 

Why this so fatal, the sagacious Muse 

Thro' nature's cunning labyrinths could trace ; 

But there are secrets which who knows not now 

Must, ere he reach them, climb the heapy Alps 

Of science ; and devote seven years to toil. 

Besides, I would not stun your patient ears 

With what it little boots you to attain. 

He knows enough, the mariner, who knows 

Where lurk the shelves, and where the whirlpools boil ; 

What signs portend the storm : to subtler minds 

He leaves to scan, from what mysterious cause 

Charybdis rages in th' Ionian wave ; 

Whence those impetuous currents in the main 

Which neither oar nor sail can stem ; and why 

The roughening deep expects the storm, as sure 

As red Orion mounts the shrouded Heaven. 

In ancient times, when Home with Athens vied 
For polish'd luxury and useful arts, 
All hot and reeking from the Olympic strife, 
And warm Palestra, in the tepid bath, 



70 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Th' athletic youths relax'cl their weary limbs. 
Soft oils bedew'd them, with the grateful pow'rs 
Of Nard and Cassia fraught, to soothe and heal 
The cherish'd nerves. Our less voluptuous clime 
Not much invites us to such arts as these. 
'Tis not for those whom gelid skies embrace, 
And chilling fogs ; whose perspiration feels 
Such frequent bars from Urus and the North ; 
'Tis not for those to cultivate a skin 
Too soft ; or teach the recremental fume 
Too fast to crowd through such precarious ways. 
For thro' the small arterial mouths, that pierce 
In endless millions the close woven skin, 
The baser fluids in a constant stream 
Escape, and viewless melt into the winds. 
"While this eternal, this most copious waste 
Of blood, degenerate into vapid brine, 
Maintains its wonted measure, all the powers 
Of health befriend you, all the wheels of life 
With ease and pleasure move ; but this restrain'd, 
Or more or less, so more or less you feel 
The functions labor : from this fatal source 
What woes descend is never to be sung. 
To take their numbers were to count the sands 
That ride in whirlwind the parch'd Lybian air ; 
Or waves that, when the blustering North embroils 
The Baltic, thunder on the German shore ; 
Subject not then by soft emollient arts 
This grand expanse, on which your fates depend 
To every caprice of the sky; nor thwart 
The genius of your clime : for from the blood 
Least fickle rise the recremental streams, 
And least obnoxious to the styptic air, 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 71 

Which breathe thro' straiter and more callous pores. 
The temper'd Scythian hence, half naked treads 
His boundless snows, nor rues th' inclement Heaven ; 
And hence our painted ancestors defied 
The East : nor curs'd, like us, their fickle sky. 

The body, moulded by the clime, endures 

Th' Equator heats or Hyperborean frosts. 

Except by habits foreign to its turn, 

Unwise you counteract its forming pow'r. 

Rude at the first, the winter shocks you less 

By long acquaintance : study then your sky, 

Form to its manners your obsequious frame, 

And learn to suffer what you cannot shun. 

Against the rigors of a damp cold Heav'n 

To fortify their bodies, some frequent 

The gelid cistern ; and, where naught forbids, 

I praise their dauntless heart : a frame so steel'd 

Dreads not the cough, not those ungenial blasts 

That breathe the tertian or fell rheumatism : 

The nerves so temper'd never quit their tone, 

No chronic languors haunt such hardy breasts. 

But all things have their bounds : and he who makes, 

By daily use, the kindest regimen 

Essential to his health, should never mix 

With human kind, nor art nor trade pursue. 

He not the safe vicissitudes of life 

Without some shock endures ; ill-fitted he 

To want the known, or bear unusual things. 

Besides,, the powerful remedies of pain 

(Since pain in spite of all our care will come) 

Should never with your prosperous days of health 

Grow too familiar : for by frequent use 



72 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

The strongest medicines lose their healing power, 
And even the surest poisons theirs to kill. 

Let those who from the frozen Arctos reach 

Parch'd Mauritania, or the sultry West, 

Or the wide flood through rich Indostan roll'd, 

Plunge thrice a day, and in the tepid wave 

Untwist their stubborn pores ; that full and free 

T'h' evaporation through the soften'd skin 

May bear proportion to the swelling blood. 

So shall they 'scape the fever's rapid flames ; 

So feel untainted the hot breath of hell. 

With us, the man of no complaint demands 

The warm ablution just enough to clear 

The sluices of the skin, enough to keep 

The body sacred from indecent soil. 

Still to be pure, even did it not conduce 

(As much it does) to health, were greatly worth 

Your daily pains. 'Tis this adorns the rich ; 

The want of this is Poverty's worst woe ; 

With this external virtue age maintains 

A decent grace ; without it youth and charms 

Are loathsome. This the venal Graces know ; 

So doubtless do your wives • for married sires, 

As well as lovers, still pretend to taste ; 

Nor is it less (all prudent wives can tell) 

To lose a husband's than a lover's heart. 

But now the hours and seasons when to toil 
From foreign themes recall my wandering song. 
Some labor fasting, or but slightly fed 
To lull the grinding stomach's hungry rage. 
Where nature feeds too corpulent a frame 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 73 

Tis wisely done : for while the thirsty veins ; 

Impatient of lean penury, devour 

The treasur'd oil, then is the happiest time 

To shake the lazy balsam from its cells. 

Now while the stomach from the full repast 

Subsides, but ere returning hunger gnaws. 

Ye leaner habits give an hour to toil : 

And ye whom no luxuriancy of growth 

Oppresses yet, or threatens to oppress. 

But from the recent meal no labors please, 

Of limbs or mind. For now the cordial powers 

Claim all the wandering spirits to a work 

Of strong and subtle toil, and great event : 

A work of time : and you may rue the day 

You hurried, with untimely exercise, 

A half-concocted chyle into the blood. 

The body overcharg'd with unctuous phlegm 

Much toil demands : the lean elastic less. 

While winter chills the blood, and binds the veins, 

Xo labors are too hard: by those you 'scape 

The slow diseases of the torpid year ; 

Endless to name ; to one of which alone, 

To that which tears the nerves, the toil of slaves, 

Is pleasure : Oh ! from such inhuman pains 

May all be free who merit not the wheel ! 

But from the burning Lion when the sun 

Pours down his sultry wrath ; now while the blood 

Too much already maddens in the veins, 

And all the finer fluids through the skin 

Explore their flight ; me, near the cool cascade 

Reclin'd, or saunt'ring in the leafy grove, 

Xo needless Blight occasion should engage 

To pant and sweat beneath the fiery noon. 



74 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Now the fresh morn alone and mellow eve 
To shady walks and active rural sports 
Invite. But, while the chilling dews descend, 
May nothing tempt you to the cold embrace 
Of humid skies ; though 'tis no vulgar joy 
To trace the horrors of the solemn wood 
While the soft evening saddens into night : 
Though the sweet Poet of the vernal groves 
Melts all the night in strains of am'rous woe. 

The shades descend, and midnight o'er the world 

Expands her sable wings. Great Nature droops 

Through all her works. How happy he whose toil 

Has o'er his languid powerless limbs diffus'd 

A pleasing lassitude ; he not in vain 

Invokes the gentle Deity of dreams. 

His powers the most voluptuously dissolve 

In soft repose ; on him the balmy dews 

Of Sleep with double nutriment descend. 

But would you sweetly waste the blank of night 

In deep oblivion ; or on Fancy's wings 

Visit the paradise of happy Dreams, 

And waken cheerful as the lively morn % 

Oppress not Nature sinking down to rest 

With feasts too late, too solid, or too full ; 

But be the first concoction half-matur'd 

Ere you to mighty indolence resign 

Your passive faculties. He from the toils 

And troubles of the day to heavier toil 

Retires, whom trembling from the tower that rocks 

Amid the clouds, or Calpe's hideous height, 

The busy demons hurl ; or in the main 

O'erwhelm; or bury struggling under ground. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. ID 

Xot all a monarch's luxury the woes 

Can counterpoise of that most wretched man, 

Whose nights are shaken with the frantic fits 

Of wild Orestes ; whose delirious brain, 

Stung by the Furies, works with poison'd thought : 

While pale and monstrous painting shocks the soul, 

And mangled conscience bemoans itself 

Forever torn; and chaos floating round. 

What dreams presage, what dangers these or those 

Portend to sanity, though prudent seers 

lleveal'd of old, and men of deathless fame, 

We would not to the superstitious mind 

Suggest new throbs, new vanities of fear. 

"lis ours to teach you from a peaceful night 

To banish omens and all restless woes. 

In study some protract the silent hours 

Which others consecrate to mirth and wine 

And sleep till noon, and hardly live till night: 

But surely this redeems not from the shades 

One hour of life. For does it not avail 

What season you to drowsy Morpheus give 

Of th' ever varying circle of the day ; 

Or whether, through the tedious winter gloom, 

You tempt the midnight or the morning clamps. 

The body, fresh and vigorous from repose, 

Defies the early fogs; but, by the toils 

Of wakeful clay, exhausted and unstrung, 

Weakly resist the night's unwholesome breath. 

The grand discharge, th' effusion of the skin, 

Slowly impair'd, the languid maladies 

Creep on, and through the sick'ning functions steal. 

So, when the chilling East invades the spring, 



76 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

The delicate Narcissus pines away 
In hectic languor ; and a slow disease 
Taints all the family of flowers, condemn'd 
To cruel heav'ns. But why, already prone 
To fade, should beauty cherish its own bane ? 
O shame ! O pity ! nipt with pale quadrille, 
And midnight cares, the bloom of Albion dies ! 

By toil subdu'd, the warrior and the hind 

Sleep fast and deep : their active functions soon 

With generous stream the subtle tubes supply ; 

And soon the tonic, irritable nerves 

Feel the fresh impulse, and awake the soul. 

The sons of indolence, with long repose, 

Grow torpid : and, with slowest Lethe drunk, 

Feebly and lingeringly return to life, 

Blunt every sense and pow'rless every limb. 

Ye prone to sleep (whom sleeping most annoys), 

On the hard mattress or elastic couch 

Extend your limbs, and wean yourselves from sloth. 

Nor grudge the lean projector, or dry brain 

And springy nerves, the blandishments of down: 

Nor envy, while the buried bacchanal 

Exhales his surfeit in prolixer dreams. 

He, without riot, in the balmy feast 

Of life, the wants of nature has supply'd, 

Who rises cool, serene, and full of soul. 

But pliant nature more or less demands, 

As custom forms her ; and all sudden change 

She hates of habit, even from bad to good. 

If faults in life, or new emergencies, 

From habits urge you by long time confirm'd, 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 77 

Slow may the change arrive, and stage by stage ; 
Slow as the shadow o'er the dial moves, 
Slow as the stealing progress of the year. 

Observe the circling year. How unperceiv'd 
Her seasons change ! Behold ! by slow degrees, 
Stern Winter tam'd into a ruder Spring ; 
The ripen'd Spring a milder Summer glows ; 
Departing Summer sheds Pomona's store ; 
And aged Autumn brews the Winter-storm. 
Slow as they come, these changes come not void 
Of mortal shocks : the cold and torrid reigns, 
The two great periods of th' important year, 
Are in their first approaches seldom safe: 
Funereal Autumn all the sickly dread, 
And the black fates deform the lovely Spring. 
He well-advis'd, who taught our wiser sires 
Early to borrow Muscovy's warm spoils, 
Ere the first frost has touch'd the tender blade ; 
And late resign them, though the wanton Spring 
Should deck her charms with all her sister's rays. 
For while the effluence of the skin maintains 
Its native measure, the pleuritic Spring 
Glides harmless by ; and Autumn, sick to death 
With sallow Quartanz, no contagion breathes. 

I in prophetic numbers could unfold 

The omens of the year: what seasons teem 

With what diseases; what the humid South 

Prepares, and what the demon of the East : 

But you perhaps refuse the tedious song. 

Besides, whatever plagues in heat, or cold, 

Or drought, or moisture, dwell, they hurt not you 



78 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Skill'd to correct the vices of the sky, 

And taught already how to each extreme 

To bend your life. But should the public bane 

Infect you ; or some trespass of your own, 

Or flaw of nature, hint mortality ; 

Soon as a not unpleasing horror glides 

Along the spine, thro' all your torpid limbs ; 

When first the head throbs, or the stomach feels 

A sickly load, a weary pain the loins ; 

Be Celsus call'd ; the Fates come rushing on ; 

The rapid Fates admit of no delay. 

While wilful you, and fatally secure, 

Expect to-morrow's more auspicious sun, 

The growing pest, whose infancy was weak 

And easy vanquish'd, with triumphant sway 

O'erpowers your life. For want of timely care, 

Millions have died of medicable wounds. 

Ah ! in what perils is vain life engag'd ! 

What slight neglects, what trivial faults destroy 

The hardiest frame ! of indolence, of toil, 

We die ; of want, of superfluity : 

The all-surrounding Heaven, the vital air, 

Is big with death. And tho' the putrid South 

Be shut, though no convulsive agony 

Shake, from the deep foundations of the world, 

Th' imprisoned plagues ; a secret venom oft 

Corrupts the air, the water, and the land. 

What livid deaths has sad Byzantium seen ! 

How oft has Cairo, with a mother's woe, 

Wept o'er her slaughter'd sons and lonely streets ! 

Even Albion, girt with less malignant skies, 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 



Albion the poison of the gods has drank 
And felt the sting of monsters all her own. 



'D 



Ere yet the fell Plantagenets had spent 
Their ancient rage, at Bosworth's purple field ; 
"While, for which tyrant England should receive, 
Her legions in incestuous murder mix'd, 
And daily horrors ; till the Fates were drunk 
With kindred blood by kindred hands profus'd ; 
Another plague of more gigantic arm 
Arose, a monster never known before, 
Rear'd from Cocytus its portentous head. 
This rapid Fury, not like other pests, 
Pursu'd a gradual course, but in a day 
Rush'd as a storm o'er half the astonish'd isle, 
And strew'd with sudden carcasses the land. 

First through the shoulders, or whatever part 

Was seiz'd the first, a fervid vapor sprung; 

With rash combustion thence, the quivering spark 

Shot to the heart, and kindled all within ; 

And soon the surface caught the spreading fires. 

Thro' all the yielding pores, the melted blood 

Gush'd out in smoky sweats ; but nought assuag'd 

The torrid heat within, nor aught reliev'd 

The stomach's anguish. With incessant toil, 

Desperate of ease, impatient of their pain, 

They toss'd from side to side. In vain the stream 

Ran full and clear, they burnt and thirsted still. 

The restless arteries with rapid blood 

Beat strong and frequent. Thick and pantingly 

The breath was fetch'd, and with huge lab'rings heav'd 

At last a heavy pain oppress'd the head, 



80 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

A wild delirium came ; their weeping friends 
Were strangers now, and this no home of theirs. 
Harass'd with toil on toil, the sinking powers 
Lay prostrate and o'erthrown ; a ponderous sleep 
Wrapt all the senses up ; they slept and died. 

In some a gentle horror crept at first 

O'er all the limbs ; the sluices of the skin 

Withheld their moisture, till, by art provok'd, 

The sweats o'erflow ; but in a clammy tide ; 

Now free and copious, now restrain'd and slow ; 

Of tincture various, as the temperature 

Had mix'd the blood ; and rank with fetid streams : 

As if the pent-up humors, by delay 

Were grown more fell, more putrid, and malign. 

Here lay their hopes (tho' little hope remain'd) 

With full effusion of perpetual sweats 

To drive the venom out. And here the Fates 

Were kind, that long they linger'd not in pain. 

For, who surviv'd the sun's diurnal race, 

Rose from the dreary gates of hell redeem'd : 

Some the sixth hour oppress'd, and some the third. 

Of many thousands few untaint'd 'scap'd ; 
Of those infected fewer 'scap'd alive : 
Of those who liv'd, some felt a second blow ; 
And whom the second spar'd a third destroy'd. 
Frantic with fear, they sought by flight to shun 
The fierce contagion. O'er the mournful land 
Th' infected city pour'd her hurrying swarms : 
Rous'd by the flames that fir'd her seats around, 
Th' infected country rush'd into the town. 
Some, sad at home, and in the desert some, 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 81 

Abjur'd the fatal commerce of mankind: 

In vain : where'er they fled, the Fates pursu'd. 

Others, with hopes more specious, cross'd the main, 

To seek protection in far-distant skies ; 

But none they found. It seem'd the general air, 

From pole to pole, from Atlas to the East, 

Was then at enmity with English blood. 

For, but the race of England, all were safe 

In foreign climes ; nor did this fury taste 

The foreign blood which England then contain'd. 

Where should they fly'? The circumambient Heaven 

Involv'd them still ; and every breeze was bane. 

Where find relief? The salutary art 

Was mute ; and startled at the new disease, 

In fearful whispers hopeless omens gave. 

To Heaven with suppliant rites they sent their pray'rs ; 

Heav'n heard them not. Of every hope depriv'd ; 

Fatigu'd with vain resources ; and subdued 

With woes resistless and enfeebling fear ; 

Passive they sunk beneath the weighty blow. 

Nothing but lamentable sounds was heard, 

Nor aught was seen but ghastly views of death. 

Infectious horror ran from face to face 

And pale despair. 'Twas all the business then 

To tend the sick, and in their turns to die. 

In heaps they fell : and oft one bed, they say, 

The sick'ning, dying, and the dead contain'd. 

Ye guardian gods, on whom the Fates depend 
Of tottering Albion ! ye eternal fires 
That lead thro' heav'n the wandering year ! ye powers 
That o'er th' encircling elements preside ! 
May nothing worse than what this age has seen 
6 



82 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Arrive ! Enough abroad, enough at home 
Has Albion bled. Here a distemper'd Heaven 
Has thinn'd her cities ; from those lofty cliffs, 
That awe proud Gaul, to Thule's wintry reign ; 
While in the West, beyond th' Atlantic foam, 
Her bravest sons, keen for the fight, have dy'd 
The death of cowards and of common men : 
Sunk void of wounds, and fall'n without renown. 

But from these views the weeping Muses turn, 
And other themes invite my wandering song. 



Exercise. — Throughout all nature, want of motion in- 
dicates weakness, corruption, inanimation, and death. 
Trenck, in his damp prison, leaped about like a lion, in 
his fetters of seventy pounds weight, in order to preserve 
his health : and an illustrious physician observes, " I 
know not which is most necessary to the support of the 
human frame, food or motion." Were the exercise of 
the body attended to in a corresponding degree with that 
of the mind, men of great learning would be more healthy 
and vigorous — of more general talents — of ampler prac- 
tical knowledge — more happy in their domestic lives- 
more enterprising, and more attached to their duties as 
men. In fine, it may with much propriety be said, that 
the highest refinement of the mind without improve- 
ment of the body, can never present anything more than 
half a human being. 



The best physicians are Dr. Diet, Dr. Quiet, and Dr. 
Merryman. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 83 

THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Book IV. 

THE PASSIONS. 

The choice of Aliment, the choice of Air, 
The use of Toil and all external things, 
Already sung ; it now remains to trace 
What good, what evil from ourselves proceeds : 
And how the subtle Principle within 
Inspires with health, or mines with strange decay 
The passive body. Ye poetic Shades, 
That know the secrets of the world unseen, 
Assist my song ! For, in a doubtful theme 
Engag'd, I wander thro' mysterious ways. 

There is, they say, (and I believe there is) 
A spark within us of th' immortal fire, 
That animates and moulds the grosser frame ; 
And, when the body sinks, escapes to heaven, 
Its native seat, and mixes with the Gods. 
Meanwhile this heavenly particle pervades 
The mortal elements : in every nerve 
It thrills with pleasure, or grows mad with pain. 
And, in its secret conclave, as it feels 
The body 's woes and joys, this ruling power 
Wields at its will the dull material world, 
And is the body 's health or malady. 

By its own toil the gross corporeal frame ; 
Fatigues, extenuates, or destroys itself. 



84 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Nor less the labors of the mind corrode 

The solid fabric : for by subtle parts 

And viewless atoms, secret Nature moves 

The mighty wheels of this stupendous world ; 

By subtle fluids pour'd thro' subtle tubes 

The natural, vital functions are perform'cl. 

By these the stubborn ailments are tamed ; 

The toiling heart distributes life and strength ; 

These the still-crumbling frame rebuild; and these 

Are lost in thinking, and dissolve in air. 

But 'tis not thought (for still the soul's employ'd) 

'Tis painful thinking that corrodes our clay. 

All day the vacant eye without fatigue 

Strays o'er the heaven and earth ; but long intent 

On microscopic arts its vigor fails. 

Just so the mind, with various thought amus'd, 

Nor aches itself, nor gives the body pain. 

But anxious Study, Discontent, and Care, 

Love without hope, and Hate without revenge, 

And Fear, and Jealousy, fatigue the soul, 

Engross the subtle ministers of life, 

And spoil the lab'ring functions of their share. 

Hence the lean gloom that Melancholy wears ; 

The Lover's paleness ; and the sallow hue 

Of Envy, Jealousy ; the meagre stare 

Of sore Revenge: the canker'd body hence 

Betrays each fretful motion of the mind. 

The strong-built pedant; who both night and day 
Feeds on the coarsest fare the schools bestow, 
And crudely fattens at gross Burman's stall ; 
O'erwhelm'd with phlegm lies in a dropsy drown'd, 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 85 

Or sinks in lethargy before his time. 
With useful studies you, and arts that please, 
Employ your mind, amuse but not fatigue. 
Peace to each drowsy metaphysic sage ! 
And ever may all heavy systems rest ! 
Yet some there are, even of elastic parts, 
Whom strong and obstinate ambition leads 
Thro' all the rugged roads of barren lore, 
And gives to relish what their generous taste 
Would else refuse. But may not thirst of fame, 
Nor love of knowledge, urge you to fatigue 
With constant drudgery the liberal soul. 
Toy with your books ; and, as the various fits 
Of humor seize you, from philosophy 
To fable shift ; from serious Antonine 
To Rabelais' ravings, and from prose to song. 

While reading pleases, but no longer, read ; 
And read aloud resounding Homer's strain, 
And wield the thunder of Demosthenes. 
The chest so exercis'd improves its strength ; 
And quick vibrations thro' the bowels drive 
The restless blood, which in unactive days 
Would loiter else thro' unelastic tubes. 
Deem it not trifling while I recommend 
What posture suits : to stand and sit by turns, 
As nature prompts, is best. But o'er your leaves 
To lean forever, cramps the vital parts 
And robs the fine machinery of its play. 

'Tis the great art of life to manage well 
The restless mind. For ever on pursuit 
Of knowledge bent, it starves the grosser powers : 



86 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Quite unemploy'd, against its own repose 

It turns its fatal edge, and sharper pangs 

Than what the body knows embitter life. 

Chiefly where Solitude, sad nurse of Care, 

To sickly musing gives the pensive mind, 

There Madness enters ; and the dim-ey'd fiend, 

Sour Melancholy, night and day provokes 

Her own eternal wound. The sun grows pale ; 

A mournful visionary light o'erspreads 

The cheerful face of nature : earth becomes 

A dreary desert, and heaven frowns above. 

Then various shapes of curs'd illusion rise: 

Whate'er the wretched fears, creating fear, 

Forms out of nothing ; and with monsters teem 

Unknown in hell. The prostrate soul beneath 

A load of huge imagination heaves ; 

And all the horrors that the murderer feels 

With anxious flutterings wake the guiltless breast. 

Such phantoms Pride, in solitary scenes, 
Or Fear, or delectate Self-love, creates. 
From other cares absolv'd, the busy mind 
Finds in yourself a theme to pore upon ; 
It finds you miserable, or makes you so, 
For while yourself you anxiously explore, 
Timorous Self-love, with sick'ning Fancy's aid, 
Presents the danger that you dread the most, 
And ever galls you in your tender part. 
Hence some for love, and some for jealousy, 
For grim religion some, and some for pride, 
Have lost their reason : some for fear of want 
Want all their lives ; and others every day 
For fear of dying suffer worse than death. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 87 

Ah ! from your bosoms banish, if you can, 

Those fatal guests : and first, the demon Fear, 

That trembles at impossible events ; 

Lest aged Atlas should resign his load, 

And Heaven's eternal battlements rush down. 

Is there an evil worse than Fear itself] 

And what avails it that indulgent Heaven 

From mortal eyes has wrapt the woes to come, 

If we, ingenious to torment ourselves, 

Grow pale at hideous fictions of our own 1 

Enjoy the present; nor with needless cares, 

Of what may spring from blind Misfortune's womb, 

Appal the surest hour that life bestows. 

Serene, and master of yourself, prepare 

For what may come ; and leave the rest to Heaven. 

Oft from the body, by long ails mis-tun'd, 

These evils sprung ; the most important health, 

That of the mind, destroy : and when the mind 

They first invade, the conscious body soon 

In sympathetic languishmcnt declines. 

These chronic passions, while from real woes 

They rise, and yet without the body's fault 

Infest the soul, admit one only cure ; 

Diversion, hurry, and a restless life. 

Vain are the consolations of the wise ; 

In vain your friends would reason down your pain. 

Oh ye, whose souls relentless love has tam'd 

To soft distress, or friends untimely fall'ii ! 

Court not the luxury of tender thought ; 

Nor deem it impious to forget those pains 

That hurt the living, nought avail the dead. 

Go, soft enthusiast ! quit the cypress groves, 



88 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Nor to the rivulet's lonely moanings tune 

Your sad complaint. Go, seek the cheerful haunts 

Of men, and mingle with the bustling crowd ; 

Lay schemes for wealth, or power, or fame, the wish 

Of nobler minds, and push them night and day. 

Or join the caravan in quest of scenes 

New to your eyes, and shifting every hour, 

Beyond the Alps, beyond the Appenines. 

Or more advent'rous, rush into the field 

Where war grows hot ; and, raging thro' the sky, 

The lofty trumpet swells the madd'ning soul : 

And in the hardy camp and toilsome march 

Forget all softer and less manly cares. 

But most too passive, when the blood runs low, 

Too weakly indolent to strive with pain, 

And bravely by resisting conquer fate, 

Try Circe's arts • and in the tempting bowl 

Of poison'd nectar sweet oblivion swill. 

Struck by the pow'rful charm, the gloom dissolves 

In empty air : Elysium opens round, 

A pleasing frenzy buoys the lighten'd soul, 

And sanguine hopes dispel your fleeting care ; 

And what was difficult, and what was dire, 

Yields to your prowess and superior stars : 

The happiest you of all that e'er were mad, 

Or are, or shall be, could this folly last. 

But soon your heaven is gone ; a heavier gloom 

Shuts o'er your head ; and as the thund'ring stream, 

Swollen o'er its banks with sudden mountain rain, 

Sinks from its tumult to a silent brook ; 

So, when the frantic raptures in your breast 

Subside, you languish into mortal man ; 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 89 

You sleep, and waking find yourself undone. 

For prodigal of life, in one rash night 

You lavish'd more than might support three days. 

A heavy morning comes ; your cares return 

"With tenfold rage. An anxious stomach well 

May be endur'd ; so may the throbbing head : . 

But such a dim delirium, such a dream, 

Involves you ; such a dastardly despair 

Unmans your soul, as madd'ning Pentheus felt, 

When, baited round Citharson's cruel sides 

He saw two suns, and double Thebes ascend. 

You curse the sluggish Port ; you curse the wretch, 

The felon, with unnatural mixture first 

"Who dar'd to violate the virgin wine. 

Or on the fugitive Champagne you pour 

A thousand curses ; for to heav'n it wrapt 

Your sord, to plunge you deeper in despair. 

Perhaps you rue even that divinest gift, 

The gay, serene, good-natur'd Burgundy, 

Or the fresh fragrant vintage of the Rhine : 

And wish that Heaven from mortals had withheld 

The grape, and all intoxicating bowls. 

Besides, it wounds you sore to recollect 

What follies in your loose unguarded hour 

Escap'd. For one irrevocable word, 

Perhaps that meant no harm, you lose a friend. 

Or in the rage of wine your hasty hand 

Perform'd a deed to haunt you to the grave. 

Add that your means, your health, your parts decay ; 

Your friends avoid you ; brutishly transform'd 

They hardly know you; or if one remains 

To wish you well, he wishes you in heaven. 



90 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

Despis'd, unwept you fall ; who might have left 
A sacred, cherish'd, sadly-pleasing name ; 
A name still to be utter'd with a sigh. 
Your last ungraceful scene has quite effac'd 
All sense and memory of your former worth. 

How to live happiest ; how avoid the pains 
The disappointments, and disgusts of those 
Who would in pleasure all their hours employ ; 
The precepts here of a divine old man 
I could recite. Tho' old, he still retain'd 
His manly sense, and energy of mind. 
Virtuous and wise he was, but not severe ; 
He still remember'd that he once was young ; 
His easy presence check'd no decent joy. 
Him even the dissolute admir'd ; for he 
A graceful looseness when he pleas'd put on, 
And laughing could instruct. Much had he read 
Much more had seen ; he studied from the life, 
And in th' original perus'd mankind. 

Vers'd in the woes and vanities of life, 
He pitied man ; and much he pitied those 
Whom falsely-smiling Fate has curs'd with means 
To dissipate their days in quest of joy. 
Our aim is happiness ; 'tis yours, 'tis mine, 
He said, 'tis the pursuit of all that live ; 
Yet few attain it, if 'twas e'er attain'd. 
But they the widest wander from the mark, 
Who thro' the flowery paths of saunt'ring joy 
Seek this coy goddess ; that from stage to stage 
Invites us still, but shifts as we pursue. 
For, not to name the pains that pleasure brings 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 91 

To counterpoise itself, relentless Fate 
Forbids that we thro' gay voluptuous wilds 
Should ever roam ; and were the Fates more kind, 
Our narrow luxuries would soon grow stale. 
Were these exhaustless, Nature would grow sick, 
And, cloy'd with pleasure, squeamishly complain 
That all was vanity, and life a dream. 
Let nature rest: be busy for yourself, 
And for your friend ; be busy ev'n in vain 
Rather than tease her sated appetites. 
Who never fasts, no banquet e'er enjoys : 
Who never toils or watches, never sleeps. 
Let nature rest ; and when the taste of joy 
Grows keen, indulge ; but shun satiety. 

'Tis not for mortals always to be blest, 

But him the least the dull or painful hours 

Of life oppress, whom sober sense conducts, 

And virtue, thro' this labyrinth we tread. 

Virtue and sense I mean not to disjoin ; 

Virtue and sense are one : and, trust me, still 

A faithless heart betrays the head unsound. 

Virtue (for mere good-nature is a fool) 

Is sense and spirit, with humanity : 

'Tis sometimes angry, and its frown confounds ; 

'Tis ev'n vindictive, but in vengeance just. 

Knaves fain would laugh at it ; some great ones dare ; 

But at his heart the most undaunted son 

Of fortune dreads its name and awful charms. 

To nobler uses this determines wealth; 

This is the solid pomp of prosp'rous days: 

The peace and shelter of adversity. 

And if you pant for glory build your fame 



92 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

On this foundation, which the secret shock . 
Defies of envy and all-sapping time. 
The gaudy gloss of Fortune only strikes 
The vulgar eye ; the suffrage of the wise, 
The praise that's worth ambition, is attain'd 
By sense alone, and dignity of mind. 

Virtue, the strength and beauty of the soul, 
Is the best gift of Heaven : a happiness 
That even above the smiles and frowns of fate 
Exalts great Nature's favorites : a wealth 
That ne'er encumbers, nor can be transferr'd. 
Riches are oft by guilt and baseness earn'd ; 
Or dealt by chance, to shield a lucky knave, 
Or throw a cruel sunshine on a fool. 
But for one end, one much-neglected use, 
Are riches worth your care (for nature's wants 
Are few, and without opulence supply 'd). 
This noble end is, to produce the soul ; 
To show the virtues in their fairest light ; 
To make humanity the minister 
Of bounteous Providence ; and teach the breast 
That generous luxury the gods enjoy. 

Thus, in his graver vein, the friendly sage 

Sometimes declaim'd. Of right and wrong he taught 

Truths as refin'd as ever Athens heard ; 

And (strange to tell!) he practis'd what he preach'd. 

Skill'd in the passions, how to check their sway 

He knew, as far as reason can control, 

The lawless powers. But other cares are mine : 

Form'd in the school of Paron, I relate 

What passions hurt the body, what improve : 

Avoid them, or invite them, as you may. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 93 

Know then, whatever cheerful and serene 
Supports the mind, supports the body too. 
Hence, the most vital movement mortals feel 
Is hope ; the balm and life-blood of the soul. 
It pleases and it lasts. Indulgent Heaven 
Sent down the kind delusion, thro' the paths 
Of rugged life to lead us patient on ; 
And make our happiest state no tedious thing. 
Our greatest good, and what we least can spare, 
Is hope : the last of all our evils, fear. 

But there are passions grateful to the breast, 

And yet no friends to life ; perhaps they please 

Or to excess, and dissipate the soul; 

Or while they please, torment. The stubborn clown, 

The ill-tam'd ruffian, and pale usurer 

(If love's omnipotence such hearts can mould), 

May safely mellow into love; and grow 

Rcfin'd, humane, and generous, if they can. 

Love in such bosoms never to a fault 

Or pains or pleases.- But, ye finer souls, 

Form'd to soft luxury, and prompt to thrill 

With all the tumults, all the joys and pains, 

That beauty gives ; with caution and reserve 

Indulge the sweet destroyer of repose, 

Nor court too much the queen of charming cares. 

For, while the cherish'd poison in your breast 

Ferments and maddens ; sick with jealousy, 

Absence, distrust, or even with anxious joy, 

The wholesome appetites and powers of life 

Dissolve in languor. The coy stomach loathes 

The genial board : your cheerful days are gone ; 

The generous bloom that flush'd your cheeks is fled. 



94: THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

To sighs devoted and to tender pains, 

Pensive you sit, or solitary stray, 

And waste your youth in musing. Musing first 

Toy'd into care your unsuspecting heart : 

It found a liking there, a sportful fire, 

And that fomented into serious love ; 

Which musing daily strengthens and improves 

Thro' all the heights of fondness and romance : 

And you're undone, the fatal shaft has sped, 

If once you doubt whether you love or no. 

The body wastes away ; th' infected mind, 

Dissolv'd in female tenderness, forgets 

Each manly virtue, and grows dead to fame. 

Sweet Heaven, from such intoxicating charms 

Defend all worthy breasts ! Not that I deem 

Love always dangerous, always to be shunn'd. 

Love well repaid, and not too weakly sunk 

In wanton and unmanly tenderness, 

Adds bloom to health, o'er ev'ry virtue sheds 

A gay, humane, a sweet, and generous grace, 

And brightens all the ornaments of man. 

But fruitless, hopeless, disappointed, rack'd 

With jealousy, fatigu'd with hope and fear, 

Too serious, or too languishingly fond, 

Unnerves the body and unmans the soul. 

And some have died for love ; and some run mad ; 

And some with desperate hands themselves have slain. 

Some to extinguish, others to prevent, 
A mad devotion to one dangerous fair, 
Court all they meet ; in hopes to dissipate 
The cares of love amongst an hundred brides. 
Th' event is doubtful : for there are who find 






THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 95 

A cure in this ; there are who find it not. 

"Tis no relief, alas ! it rather galls 

The wound, to those who are sincerely sick. 

For while from feverish and tumultuous joys 

The nerves grow languid and the soul subsides, 

The tender fancy smarts with every sting, 

And what was love before is madness now. 

Is health your care, or luxury your aim, 

Be temperate still ; when Nature bids, obey ; 

Her wild impatient sallies bear no curb : 

But when the prurient habit of delight, 

Or loose imagination, spurs you on 

To deeds above your strength, impute it not 

To nature : nature all compulsion hates. 

Ah ! let nor luxury nor vain renown 

Urge you to feats you well might sleep without ; 

To make what should be rapture a fatigue, 

A tedious task ; nor in the wanton arms 

Of twining Lais melt your manhood down 

For from the colliquation of soft joys 

How chang'd you rise ! the ghost of what you was 

Languid, and melancholy, and gaunt, and wan ; 

Your veins exhausted, and your nerves unstrung. 

Spoil'd of its balm and sprightly gest, the blood 

Grows vapid phlegm ; along the tender nerves 

(To each slight impulse tremblingly awake) 

A subtle fiend that mimics all the plagues, 

llapid and restless springs from part to part. 

The blooming honors of your youth are fallen ; 

Your vigor pines ; your vital powers decay ; 

Diseases haunt you; and untimely age 

Creeps on ; unsocial, impotent, and lewd. 

Infatuate, impious, epicure ! to waste 



96 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

The stores of pleasure, cheerfulness, and health ! 
Infatuate all who make delight their trade, 
And coy perdition every hour pursue 

Who pines with love, or in lascivious flames 

Consumes, is with his own consent undone ; 

He chooses to be wretched, to be mad ; 

And warn'd, proceeds, and wilful to his fate. 

But there's a passion, whose tempestuous sway 

Tears up each virtue planted in the breast, 

And shakes to ruins proud philosophy. 

For pale and trembling anger rushes in, 

With fault'ring speech, and eyes that wildly stare ; 

Fierce as the tiger, madder than the seas, 

Desperate, and arm'd with more than mortal strength. 

How soon the calm, humane, and polish'd man 

Forgets compunction, and starts up a fiend ! 

Who pines in love, or wastes with silent cares, 

Envy, or ignominy, or tender grief, 

Slowly descends, and ling'ring, to the shades. 

But he whom anger stings, drops, if he dies, 

At once, and rushes apoplectic down ; 

Or a fierce fever hurries him to hell. 

For, as the body thro' unnumber'd strings 

Reverberates each vibration of the soul ; 

As is the passion, such is still the pain 

The body feels : or chronic, or acute. 

And oft a sudden storm at once o'erpowers 

The life, or gives your reason to the winds. 

Such fates attend the rash alarm of fear, 

And sudden grief, and rage, and joy. 

There are meantime, to whom the boist'rous fit 
Is health, and only fills the sails of life. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 97 

For where the mind a torpid winter leads, 

Wrapt in a body corpulent and cold, 

And each clogg'd function lazily moves on ; 

A generous sally spurns th' incumbent load, 

Unlocks the breast, and gives a cordial glow. 

But if your wrathful blood is apt to boil, 

Or are your nerves too irritably strung, 

Wave all dispute; be cautious, if you joke ; 

Keep Lent for ever, and foreswear the bowl. 

For one rash moment sends you to the shades, 

Or shatters ev'ry hopeful scheme of life, 

And gives to horror all your days to come. 

Fate, arm'd with thunder, fire, and ev'ry plague, 

That ruins, tortures, or distracts mankind, 

And makes the happy wretched in an hour, 

O'erwhelms you not with woes so horrible 

As your own wrath, nor gives more sudden blows. 

While cholcr works, good friend, you may be wrong; 
Distrust yourself, and sleep before you fight. 
Tis not too late to-morrow to be brave ; 
If honor bids, to-morrow kill or die. 
But calm advice against a raging fit 
Avails too little ; and it braves the power 
Of all that ever taught in prose or song, 
To* tame the fiend that sleeps a gentle lamb, 
And wakes a lion. Unprovok'd and calm, 
You reason w r ell ; see as you ought to see, 
And wonder at the madness of mankind : 
Sciz'd witli the common rage, you soon forget 
The speculations of your wiser hours. 
Beset with furies of all deadly shapes, 
Fierce and insidious, violent and slow : 
7 



98 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

With all that urge or lure us on to fate : 
What refuge shall we seek ? what arms prepare 1 
Where reason proves too weak, or void of wiles 
To cope with subtle or impetuous powers, 
I would invoke new passions to your aid : 
With indignation would extinguish fear, 
With fear or generous pity vanquish rage, 
And love with pride ; and force to force oppose. 

There is a charm, a power, that sways the breast ; 

Bids every passion revel or be still ; 

Inspires with rage, or all your cares dissolves ; 

Can soothe distraction, and almost despair. 

That power is music ; far beyond the stretch 

Of those unmeaning warblers on our stage ; 

Those clumsy heroes, those fat-headed gods, 

Who move no passion justly but contempt : 

Who, like our dancers (light indeed and strong !) 

Do wond'rous feats, but never heard of grace. 

The fault is ours ; we bear those monstrous arts ; 

Good Heaven! we praise them: we with loudest peals, 

Applaud the fool that highest lifts his heels ; 

And with insipid show of rapture, die 

Of idiot notes impertinently long. 

But he the Muse's laurel justly shares, 

A poet he, and touch' d with Heaven's own fire, 

Who, with bold rage or solemn pomp of sounds 

Inflames, exalts, and ravishes the soul ; 

Now tender, plaintive, sweet almost to pain, 

In love dissolves you ; now in sprightly strains 

Breathes a gay rapture thro' your thrilling breast ; 

Or melts the heart with airs divinely sad ; 

Or wakes to horror the tremendous strings. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 99 

Such was the bard, whose heavenly strains of old 
Appeas'd the fiend of melancholy Saul. 
Such was, if old and heathen Fane say true, 
The man who bade the Theban domes ascend, 
And tam'd the savage nations with his song ; 
And such the Thracian, whose melodious lyre, 
Tun'd to soft woe, made all the mountains weep ; 
Sooth'd even th' inexorable powers of hell, 
And half redeem'd his lost Eurydice. 
Music exalts each joy, allays each grief, 
Expels diseases, softens every pain, 
Subdues the rage of poison, and the plague ; 
And hence the wise of ancient days ador'd 
One power of physic, melody, and song. 



" Intemperance is a foe to freedom. A sot is a slave 
to an appetite, which uses him with more cruelty than 
ever Algerine task-master manifested to a miserable cap- 
tive. In the first place the monster-vice strips its victim 
of his property; secondly, his character and reputation 
are sacrificed to the insatiate power, in whose manacles 
he is bound. He is then scourged by disease, stimulated 
into the commission of crime, and forced to do the foulest 
work of the foul fiend that possesses him, without fee 
or reward; thus realizing to their utmost extent the 
truth of the sacred adages, 'the way of the transgressor 
is hard,' and ' the wages of sin is death.' " 



The door that is not opened to him that begs our 
alms will be opened to the physician. 



100 PURE AIR ASD PURE FOOD. 



PURE AIR AND PUKE FOOD: 

THEIR CONNECTIONS AND RELATIONSHIP AS AN ITEM IN 
DOMESTIC ECONOMY AND HYGIENE. 

That pure air and pure food are essential to health, 
no one will deny ; but trite though it be, the dogma will 
bear repetition. Theoretically right on the importance 
of ventilation, is not our community still practically at 
fault in failing to bring to bear all the means and appli- 
ances for securing it"? And after all there has been 
written on the "chemistry of food," and its practical 
application to cookery, has there been that advancement 
in this branch of " art" which the real interests of man- 
kind require'? Change is not always reform, nor is 
progress necessarily improvement. We would not in- 
deed go back to the wide-mouthed chimney, down whose 
ample flues the stars gazed smilingly on the broad hearth, 
high piled with its load of blazing wood, whose sweeping 
draught of air sucked in so largely of the pure breath 
of heaven ; but why, in our furnace-heated homes, need 
we, as is too often done, shut up the chimney's narrow 
throat, close every vent, and make the rooms air-tight] 
Pure air a blessing ! And you believe it"? Take down, 
then, those double windows, or remove those sand-bags 
from over the narrow chink between the sashes ; unlist 
those doors, and let iEolus and Boreas blow in with 
welcome. 

Fuel saving is a Christian virtue in the household 
creed, and where our mothers baked in huge brick ovens, 
nor spared the wood ; or before the glowing embers in 



PURE AIR AND PURE FOOD. 101 

tin kitchens did their roasting, we, wiser grown, discard 
the latter process, and bake our meats shut up in iron 
walls, and burn out their juices with the red hot anthra- 
cite.* A range oven and the one of olden time, how 
wide the difference! Has progress been improvement 
here] hygienically, we mean, of course. 

We are here reminded of, and must refer to, an edi- 
torial in a late number of a journal, respecting " sani- 
tary conventions." With the sentiments therein ex- 
pressed we heartily sympathize, trusting that the " sani- 
tary code for cities" may here and elsewhere become the 
subject of municipal enactments. Its provisions are ad- 
mirable, as you say, and " we may well rejoice that the 
spirit is at least born into our republican atmosphere, 
which has long lived, flourished, and meted out justice 
among the people of older countries." Why should the 
freedom of our land give immunity in the matters of 
house drainage and public markets from police surveil- 
lance, if upon them depends in any degree the purity 
of the air we breathe, and of the food we eat] With 
pure air in our dwellings, and pure food filling our lar- 
ders, have we yet secured the best means of preserving 
it ] Is not the former an important element to this end 1 
We shall presently see. It is not the adulterater's art 
only we have to fear, for there are other sources of so- 
phistication than those which human agencies adopt. 
Our climate, though we boast of its salubrity, tends dur- 
ing the heat of many weeks to induce, by its hygrometric 
condition and elevated temperature, speedy decomposi- 
tion. Decay, the universal law, comes into play, as the 

' The latest patented " double .oven beauty cooking range" is advertised 
to " '1" the continuous cooking for the entire day with oue hod of coal." True, 
it is not stated how large the hod must be. 



102 PURE AIR AND PURE FOOD. 

life principle "ceases. It seizes all our esculents alike, dif- 
fering only in degree and form. Fish, flesh, and fowl soon 
" smell to heaven." Vegetables wither and decay; fer- 
mentation and mould attack our fruits ; and last, but by 
no means least in importance, milk, " that model of what 
an alimentary substance ought to be," upon which so 
much depends — whether as an ingredient in the many 
luxuries of adult years, or of infancy, the very pabulum 
vitse — is subject to "changing," which carries disappoint- 
ment into the dining-room, and dismay into the nursery. 
A condition of agalacty is at times a sore trial in the 
latter department, and any means of keeping this "pro- 
totype of nutritious matters in general" intact and pure, 
should be eagerly sought after. So many infants at the 
present day fail to derive a supply from the maternal 
source, that its preservation is hygienically important. 

Our fathers sought refrigeration in the dark cellar and 
in the cool, deep well. Ice, though indigenous with us, 
has not been cultivated till these latter days, but has now 
become a universal luxury, and necessity as well. Re- 
frigeration by its instrumentality is the great preserver, 
but, as now employed, does it not fail to secure, as re- 
gards length of time and contamination, the end in view, 
beyond the limit required by science and philosophy % 

That modern device, the refrigerator, is now a house- 
hold institution in our land. Without condemning it in 
toto, we would question the salubrity of the air-tight 
provision chamber common to most of them ; we say air- 
tight, for this seems to be a point made prominent in 
commendation of some of them, or at least their ice-pre- 
serving qualities are urged. Ice-saving is another car- 
dinal virtue in the domestic creed. But may it not be 
an unwise economy 1 To make cool and keep it so, and 



PURE AIR AND PURE FOOD. 103 

shut up the body of air within it, is the aim ; but be- 
yond a certain point, or time, cold, damp air (as this must 
be), thus confined, fails to preserve. An article of food 
of the temperature it would be in summer, deposited 
within, receives the moisture by precipitation on its sur- 
face, and this promotes decomposition.* 

On the other hand, and here comes our point, a gentle 
and uniform current of dry and cool air passing through 
the provision chamber will insure the prevention and 
even arrest of decomposition. Ventilation, then, should 
be the end sought in constructing a refrigerator, and this 
by no means involves a waste of ice. What though it 
may beget an increased consumption of this abundant 
article — its compensation for this will come in the shape 
of increased purity and flavor of food and fruits, and their 
consequent greater healthfulness. It is allowed by close 
observers, that provisions are rendered unwholesome by 
being kept in a receptacle in which the air is not con- 
stantly and effectually changed, and the health of indi- 
viduals has no doubt suffered in consequence. Most 
refrigerators, though under the supervision of careful 
housewives, do acquire a musty and offensive smell, a 
pretty sure indication of their pernicious tendency. 



Change of Clothing. — By throwing off thick clothing 
too soon in spring, and putting it on too late in autumn, 
we run the risk of having fevers in summer and colds 
in winter. 

* Such an arrangement may answer when it is intended to keep food and 
luxuries from meal to meal only, but beyond this they fail, as your own 
experience must have taught you. 



104 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 



THE PROPER AND MOST NATURAL WAY OF BOILING, 

ROASTING, FRYING, BAKING, &c, OF FLESH 

AND OTHER FOOD. 

The proper and natural way to boil flesh and other 
food, that the spirits and life of it may be preserved, is, 
first, to put your flesh into a pot or vessel that is large, 
and can hold a good store of water. For this element of 
water being of itself sweet and pleasant, does cleanse 
and sweeten all things, especially flesh, which is full of 
gross matter ; but you are to note, that your flesh is not 
to be put into your pot or vessel unless it first hoil ; for 
if it lie in the water and receives heat but gradually, it 
dulls and makes flat the spirituous part thereof. Like- 
wise when your flesh is put into your vessel, let your 
fire be increased, that it may not lie long in the water 
before it boil, and as soon as it boils, you are to uncover 
your vessel, and to keep it boiling very quick without 
intermission till it is ready for eating. The pot or ves- 
sel is not to be covered any time of the boiling, for 
thereby the sweet and refreshing influences of the air 
are hindered that they cannot have their free egress and 
regress, which does, as it were, suffocate and destroy the 
pure and volatile spirits in the food ; for the air is the 
life and preserver of the spirit, and the spirit is also the 
life and preserver of the balsamic body in everything ; 
and in what thing soever the spirits suffer violence, the 
sweet body and oil turneth sour, as is most manifest in 
all fermented liquors ; if such liquors be exposed to the 
open air, the spirits will evaporate, and then the sweet 
body turneth sour, and becomes of a heavy dull nature 
and operation; but in the preparation of all gross 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 105 

phlegmy bodies, the free influence of the air keeps the 
spirit living till such bodies are digested and the spirits 
set at liberty, then if such preparations or digestions be 
continued, the spirituous parts will also either become 
suffocated or evaporated, according to the nature of the 
thing, as in making and preparing of hay, the gross 
phlegmatic body in grass could not be digested or ex- 
hibited but by virtue and power of the sun and air ; 
but when they have destroyed the gross humidity and 
phlegm, if the preparation and making of it be con- 
tinued, that is, the hay continued in the sun and air, it 
will exhale, and cause the spirituous part to exhale also. 
The very same or like is to be understood in the pre- 
parations of food ; for these fiery sulphurous fumes and 
vapors which proceed out of these vessels all the time 
of the boiling, being forced back and kept in, become 
gradually more intense and raging, and because of the 
want of the free influences of the air, the pure spirits 
and balsamic body are wounded, which does destroy the 
true natural color with the pure smell and taste; also, it 
makes it lumpish, close, heavy, dull, and gross on the 
palate ; this kind of preparation is likewise heavy, and 
hard of digestion in the stomach, and generates thick 
blood and gross nourishment, from whence proceed dull 
indispositions, with fumes flying into the head. For the 
digestive faculty and true virtue of all sorts of food does 
consist in the sjrirituoiis parts, and if any violence be 
done to them in the preparation, then such food becomes 
dull and half dead; for those fumes and vapors that 
pots and vessels send forth, arc of a sulphurous and 
poisonous nature, as you may perceive if you take up 
any sort of food^ when boiled, and presently while it is 
hot cover it close, which will force those fiery fumes back, 



106 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

insomuch that the re-entering the food destroys and 
suffocates the pure spirits, therefore all such food will 
not only be heavy but it will have a dull gross taste 
and smell, very unpleasant both to the palate and strong 
of concoction ; the truth of this every one knows if they 
would be so wise as to take notice of it; for those sul- 
phurous fumes that food sends forth, as also the vessels, 
is altogether of a contrary nature to the heat and 
genuine virtue of the food, as you also may perceive so 
soon as the food is prepared and taken from the fire. 
This fiery heat will of its own accord evaporate and 
separate itself from the food; it dwells no longer there- 
with than it is forced by the continuation of the fire ; it 
hath no natural simile with the food, therefore it will 
not incorporate itself with it, and nothing is more un- 
natural than to eat and drink any kind of food whilst 
those fiery steams and fumes be in it, for it swells the 
body and generates wind, sends fumes and vapors into 
the head ; it also infects the blood with a hot, sharp, 
humor. But this unnatural heat is made by custom 
the more friendly, as you may perceive if you give dogs 
or any other creature pottage, or the like, whilst they 
are hot, will cause a mange in their blood. The very 
same operation it hath in men, but not so violent, 
because of the continual use of such things. In this 
particular I shall be blamed by many; for, say they, I 
have found by experience that cold food will not agree 
with my stomach, neither will it satisfy my appetite. 
This may be true, yet, nevertheless, this does not make 
it healthful nor wholesome; for if you use yourself and 
stomach to the frequent eating and drinking of physical 
things your stomach will long after them, and will not 
be satisfied without them. One example we have 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 107 

amongst others in taking of tobacco, which at first is 
most unpleasant and loathsome, but, through custom, 
and by degrees, it hath awakened its simile in the ele- 
ments of the body and made that quality strong, which, 
at the first taking of it, was weak, or lay, as it were, 
hid under the qualities that did predominate; therefore, 
at the first taking of such poisonous or physical things, 
they generally disorder people, but when (as it is men- 
tioned before) the continual use has made this weak 
quality strong, then it ofttimes proves as great a diffi- 
culty to refrain it as it was to make it friendly at the 
first taking, or rather more. For in men is contained 
the true nature of all things, only one property does 
predominate and is stronger than the other, which 
quality hath the chief dominion in the government of 
life; therefore, there is a possibility in the human 
nature to alter or change itself for the better or worse, 
that is, through use and custom of meats, drinks, exer- 
cises, and communications, viz., to make that quality 
that in the radix was weak to become strong, and, on 
the contrary, that which was strong, weak, so great is 
the power of custom and the continual use of things; 
for everything, be it what it will, hath a secret power 
in itself to awaken its simile, both in the evil and also 
in the good. Likewise there ought to be a great 'care 
taken that the food be not over nor under prepared: of 
the two it had better be a little under; for as soon as 
the gross, phlegmatic body in the food is digested the 
pure spirituous parts become volatile, and then, if the 
preparations be continued, they evaporate and go back- 
ward towards the centre of Saturn, and so loseth its 
pure color, smell, and taste, and becomes of a heavy 
dull quality, and especially if the vessel be close covered ; 



108 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

for so soon as the egress and regress of the air is hin- 
dered immediately the spirits suffer violence. For the 
pure essential spirits which dwell in the sweet oil, 
whence the tire has its bright, shining, pleasant, and 
friendly quality, will not endure those violent raging 
fumes and vapors. Their nature may be understood by 
their furious motion, and if those fiery fumes be by the 
force of covering the vessel kept in, then they become 
tenfold more terrible and fierce, as you may perceive, 
when any vessel is boiling ; if you uncover it the steams 
fly out like a clap of thunder. Indeed, all such fumes 
and vapors are of a dark fiery nature and operation, for 
being kept in by force they seek out their centre, and 
do, by way of simile, incorporate themselves with their 
like spirits in the food or whatever else it would be, so 
that those fiery, sulphurous, dark spirits and fumes 
become stronger and more powerful in their operation; 
for they being of a saturnine and martial nature — the 
nature of Saturn is to contract and very vigorously draw 
and inclose the spirit, which Mars cannot endure, and 
the more Saturn contracteth the matter the more furious 
and raging Mars becomes (as you may perceive by the 
fiery, quick, furious motion such sulphurous fumes have 
when you open such vessels that do boil) — which do 
wound the pure spirituous parts, and the balsamic body 
becomes wounded and sick, more especially if the pre- 
paration of such food be continued too long, for so soon 
as the gross body or phlegmy matter in food is in part 
digested, then presently the spirituous parts appear ex- 
ternally, which did not only lie hid, but also the body 
of the phlegm, before the preparation, did keep the 
spirits from evaporation, which all corporeal bodies do, 
for the body is the house of the spirits. 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 109 

Therefore great care ought to be taken in all prepa- 
ration of food both for man and beast, except that most 
friendly element the air hath its free influences, because 
it is the life, and gives power and "virtue to the spirit. 
Also this is to be minded, that Avhen your gross body 
in the food is by your preparation digested, whether it 
be by the heat of the sun or by the common fire, then 
ought you to proceed no further, nor continue your pre- 
paration longer; for when the pure spirituous part 
becomes volatile, the same air which did keep and pre- 
serve the spirit from suffocation in the preparation will 
now cause it to evaporate, which every country husband- 
man knows in the making and preparing of his hay, 
which neither the Tiousewife does understand nor con- 
sider in her preparations of their food, nor the physi- 
cians in the preparations of their physic; these things 
are of greater consequence as to health than most do 
imagine. I do not desire any to give credit to me, but 
I would have them so noble as to try whether it be so 
or not, health being the best treasure in the world, and 
all those that want it do esteem and desire it more 
than any other thing; though few do take right mea- 
sures when they enjoy it to continue it. 

Thus much for the right and most natural way of 
preparing food by boiling; and whosoever shall observe 
the afore-mentioned rules and observations, shall find 
great benefit and pleasure. The very same rules ought 
to be observed in the preparation of all pottages, green 
herbs and pulses, except dry pulses, which will admit of 
a slower and more gentle fire than the green. 



110 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

OF ROASTING OF FLESH. 

The roasting of flesh is a good commendable way of 
preparation, and is rather sweeter than boiling ; it affords 
a good, dry, firm nourishment, but it is somewhat harder 
of concoction, but very sweet and pleasant by reason 
that the friendly influence of the air hath its free egress 
and regress, not being anyways inclosed, so that the 
pure spirituous parts are kept living, which do render it 
brisk and lively. 

There are two things to be observed in the flesh you 
roast: 1st. That you have your flesh (if beef) as soon 
as it is thoroughly cold, and then to give it some salt, and 
to keep it in a cool place a day or two ; for if you salt 
it much, the salt being of a fiery hot nature, when the 
flesh comes to the fire, it does (as it were) scorch or burn 
it, destroys the spirits and sweet oil, insomuch that it 
becomes in its nature and operation hot and unpleasant, 
causing great thirst in the eater. In roasting it is also 
to be considered, that you have a good, clear, strong, and 
equal fire, and that your flesh be placed at a convenient 
distance, not too near, because it will burn or scorch, 
and so harden the outside that the heat shall not be 
able to penetrate into the middle thereof, so that the 
outside will be too much, and the inside too little ; neither 
is your flesh to be too far off, for then it flattens the 
spirits; such flesh loseth its pure sweetness, with its 
color and fragrant smell, being dull on the palate and 
heavy on the stomach, in comparison of that which is 
placed at a convenient distance, having a continued brisk 
fire. 

The next thing that you ought to observe is, that it 
be neither over nor underdone, but of the two, it is better 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. Ill 

to be underdone ; the point of time when the preparation 
is at the height is difficult, and it can be no other way 
known but by its color, smell, and taste, which by a little 
custom every housewife may understand, for that palate 
that is used to eat and drink things well and properly 
prepared can presently distinguish the contrary ; and so, 
on the other side, those that do accustom themselves to 
either food or drinks ill-prepared, cannot distinguish the 
good from the evil, or the right from the wrong. The 
same is in the sense of smelling, as all such that do use 
to kill beasts, and to be much in slaughter-houses 
amongst the dead carcasses, the terrible fumes and stupe- 
fied stinks are hardly smelled or perceived by them ; the 
same is to be understood of tallow chandlers and other 
stinking trades, for every particular thing has power to 
strengthen and awaken its simile, therefore there are 
but few that have their perfect taste or smell ; only those 
that do accustom themselves to the eating and drinking 
such things as are well prepared, their palates are made 
the more perfect thereby. But of all the ways of pre- 
paring flesh, boiling is' the easiest, if the rules be followed 
set down in the foregoing paragraph. 

OF BAKING OF FLESH. 

This preparation is neither so wholesome nor healthful 
as either boiling or roasting, for the following reasons : — 

First. Most sorts of food that are baked are deprived 
both of the element of water, and also of the air, which 
are not only the purgcrs and cleansers of all food, but 
the support and life of the spirit. 

Second. The air in ovens become sulphurous and 
deadly, by the reason of the stopping of it, that the re- 



112 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

viving and refreshing influence of this element has not 
its free egress and regress, so that the pure spirituous 
parts become, as it were, suffocated. Nor can such flesh 
be supplied with convenient quantities of water, which 
in all preparations of flesh is a great cleanser and up- 
holder of the spirits, so that it boils in its own gross 
humidity, which all flesh does plentifully afford. Also, 
the heat of ovens is fiercer and more sulphurous than 
the heat of other fires, where the air has its influences ; 
the air also being confined, is of a deadly poisonous na- 
ture and operation ; it also destroys the natural color. 
Therefore flesh baked does no ways look like that which 
is boiled or roasted ; besides it is of a strong, fulsome 
taste in comparison of the former, and a less quantity 
will cloy and fill the stomach, more especially if such 
flesh shall be eaten hot, which renders it much more 
wholesome than cold, for those sulphurous fumes and 
vapors that do proceed from baked food are much more 
hurtful to the health than that which is either boiled or 
roasted, for there are but few vessels in which food is 
boiled that are or can be kept so close as ovens. This 
way of preparation is chiefly followed in summer, espe- 
cially in August, September, and October, the air in this 
season being sulphurous and fainty, and the weather hot, 
the making fire in their houses is troublesome, therefore 
baking saves them the labor. Now at these seasons, of 
the year flesh is unwholesome, and very apt to burden 
nature, and to bring diseases, as I have discoursed in 
another place ; the frequent use of baked flesh in this 
season, with other evil circumstances which do then con- 
cur, does beget divers obstructions, and generates an un- 
firra nourishment, because most sorts of flesh at this time 
are more subject to putrefaction than any other, whence 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 113 

so many fevers, fluxes, gripings of the bowels, and other 
diseases do very frequently reign, for flesh in its best 
condition is full of gross juices and matter for putrefac- 
tion, by reason of the great store of phlegm and humidity, 
therefore it ought to be helped as much as can be in the 
preparation, which never can be well done except there 
be plenty of the element of water and the free egress 
and regress of the air; for those elements have a living 
power in them, by which they do qualify and mix with 
it, purging and cleansing that raw phlegmy juice or 
matter, which all flesh does afford. Also, where these 
two elements have their free operation in the prepara- 
tion of all sorts of food, they preserve not only the pure 
spirits, but also the sweet balsamic body, from being suf- 
focated or destroyed, maintaining the natural color, with 
the smell and taste, which makes all such food lively and 
brisk, easy of concoction, generating a far better nourish- 
ment than any kind of baked meat. 

OF STEWING OF FLESH. 

This kind of preparation of flesh is much of the same 
nature with the former, for it has neither benefit of the 
air, nor a convenient quantity of water ; in this and all 
other preparations of food, where these two elements are 
hindered from having their free influences and operation 
(as is mentioned before), neither flesh nor any other food 
can be well prepared ; for the radical and pure spirits 
(where these two elements are penned up from having 
their influences) cannot subsist, neither will the fire burn, 
but presently the pure spirits and oil in the wood, or 
Other things, becomes suffocated; for the water and air 
are the true life and power of every being ; whence it 
8 



114 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

comes to pass in all preparations, both of food and physic, 
where these two elements have not their free influences 
and operations, the pure spirits become suffocated, and 
the sweet oil is turned sour, and becomes of a stinking 
quality, which is the cause all sorts of food so prepared 
become strong in scent and also in taste, and it loseth 
its natural color ; if (as I have said) the pure spirits and 
balsamic body be hurt, then there follows presently an 
alteration, and the original quality of the dark, brim- 
stone spirit of Saturn and Mars gets the dominion, which 
was, as it were, hid before ; but so soon as the true life 
is wounded, this crude fire becomes many degrees stronger 
than before, as is seen in charcoal and in many other 
things ; for these pure spirits and oily body, whence the 
true light hath its bright, shining quality, are the quali- 
fiers or moderators of this dark, fierce fire, as I have 
elsewhere largely discoursed of, touching the nature of 
brandy ; of this all housewives ought to take notice, for 
if the pure spirits and sweet body be not preserved in the 
preparations of food, such food is rather a death to the 
body, and also to the spirits, than life. The greatest 
wisdom in all preparations is to preserve the pure spirits 
and sweet body from being either suffocated or evaporated, 
and yet at the same time to digest and open the body, 
for the crude matter in all food must be digested, or else 
the pure spirits cannot be set at liberty, or freed from 
the phlegmy matter ; which pure spirits and sweet body 
do tincture the food, as we see when any food is pro- 
perly prepared, which comes to pass through the prepa- 
ration, it digests the gross crude parts, and then presently 
the true spirits appear in their friendly forms, which be- 
fore the preparation were captivated or hid by the gross 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 115 

phlegmatic body; the same is done in malt, but in a 
higher degree. 

Most certain it is that the pure spirits and balsamic 
body cannot be supported and continued without the 
help of the air and water ; therefore it is a gross mis- 
take and error amongst most housewives, to think that 
by covering the vessels wherein food is prepared, to 
preserve the spirituous parts ; thereby imagining, that 
if such vessels be open, the spirits will evaporate, 
which never happens till the gross body in the food be 
digested, and the food be sufficiently prepared, which 
does (as is said before) set the spirituous parts at liberty, 
that they become volatile, and then if the preparation 
be continued, they will evaporate, but not before ; for 
in the preparation, the elements of air and water, having 
their free influences, keep the spirits and oily body 
living, and if these two elements be prevented, then the 
fiery, sulphurous fumes become so raging that they seek 
out their centre, and incorporate themselves with the 
gross humid part of the food, so that they greedily 
devour and suffocate the pure life and sweet oil ; the 
very same is to be understood in all physical prepara- 
tions. 

The observation and true knowledge of these things 
are very material, as to the preserving of health ; but 
first they must be understood in a man's self, for before 
a man can essentially know anything, the cognoscible, 
and the knowledge thereof must be manifested in him- 
self, or else it is impossible for any one to know any 
thing truly. Whatsoever may be known or understood 
of God and Nature, is essentially in man, or else lie 
could not be called the image of his Creator. There- 
fore every one ought to turn the eye of their under- 



116 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

standing inward, and diligently search themselves, which 
study is preferable to all other things. 

OF FRIED FLESH. 

The frying of flesh and other food in pans, is a 
preparation much in use in England, but not so good or 
wholesome as either boiling, roasting, or broiling. The 
goodness of all food does arise and proceed from the 
essential spirits and balsamic body, which is the tru^ 
life and virtue of everything, and if these essential 
virtues do not suffer violence in the preparation, then 
such food will have a most pleasant smell, a brisk, lively 
taste, very delightful to the palate ; also, it retaineth its 
natural color, according to that color that was predomi- 
nant in the radix of that thing, be it either white, green, 
or whatsoever else, which can no way be maintained in 
the food, but by the benefit and help of the water, and 
the pure influences of the air. Where the operation 
and influences of these two elements are hindered, the 
pure spirits do suffer violence, which alters and changes 
both the color, smell, and taste ; then it has a strong 
and odious scent, and its taste is also more unpleasing 
than the former, and the stomach does not so eagerly 
desire it. Likewise, its true color is lost, or in some 
degree destroyed, as is most manifest by all fried flesh; 
it does send forth a strong, fulsome smell in comparison 
of either boiled or roasted ; its taste is stronger, and its 
natural color is changed, by reason the pure spirits and 
sweet body are (as it were) suffocated by that fiery, 
harsh heat the pan does contain; this heat is more 
poisonous than the common heat of fire, which is caused 
by the metal, whether it be brass or iron, for the fire 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 117 

does not only awaken the poisonous nature that such 
metal does contain, but the pleasant quality or oily body 
in the fire (whence it hath its bright, shining, friendly 
quality) is suffocated ; therefore all such heat that 
proceeds from pans is of a harsh, fierce nature and 
operation. The truth of this is further manifested by 
those that shall be burned or scalded by such pans, 
which is more poisonous, and the flesh is harder to be 
cured than what is burned by common fire, and often 
proves more dangerous ; the very same matter does 
cause any kind of food to have such a strong smell, for 
in all preparations that cause the smell to become strong, 
it is a sure sign that some violence is done to the pure 
spirits and balsamic body, which doth awaken the centre 
of the dark, wrathful nature. The very same is to be 
understood in all other things, and that is the reason 
why fried, baked, and stewed food does send forth a 
stronger and fulsomer scent than other preparations, and 
all such food will sooner cloy and dull both palate and 
stomach, except in some few whose natures and stomachs 
have a simile with such food. It is also to be noted, 
that the fat which is used in frying, that lies or runs 
between the thing fried and the pan, is by this sul- 
phurous heat, and the want of the free influences of air, 
and the benefit of a convenient quantity of water, turned 
into a stinking oil, which does neither retain its color, 
smell, nor taste, but is of a contrary nature to what it 
was when it was put into the pan. For these reasons 
all fried food is of a stronger, fulsomer nature than 
either boiled, roasted, or broiled meat, harder of con- 
coction, and does cloy the stomach. 

Therefore all housewives and others that do prepare 
food, if they regard the health of the body and true 



118 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

pleasure of the palate, ought to understand the possi- 
bility of nature in all preparations, that they may digest 
the raw gross body of food, without offering any violence 
to the pure spirits and balsamic body, and then all such 
food would be of a most pleasant smell, color, and taste, 
for if the pure spirits be kept free and not suffocated in 
the preparation, such food becomes friendly to nature, 
affording good, firm, and wholesome nourishment, easy 
of concoction ; the frequent eating of such food makes 
a man airy, full of lively spirits, and of a good complexion. 
So, on the contrary, if they be suffocated, then presently 
the sweet oil is turned sour, or into a stinking quality ; 
then such food so prepared will have (*as is mentioned 
before) a strong smell and taste, not retaining its natural 
color ; for in all sorts of food, in which the spirituous 
parts and balsamic body are strong, their smell, color, and 
taste are pleasant and friendly. Also, it is to be noted, 
that most preparations of food, the quicker they are 
performed (provided there be no violence done to the 
spirit) the better and more friendly such food will prove, 
for slow and intermitting fires, in either boiling or other 
preparations, do flatten and dull the spirituous parts. 
Therefore no baker can preserve the pure white color 
in his fine small bread, if he be not quick about it, for 
if any preparation be continued too long the volatile 
spirits become in a degree suffocated ; then Venus, Sol, 
and Jupiter grow weak, and according to the length of 
time and degrees of heat, so the natural colors do alter 
and change, for the colors of all sorts of food (when 
prepared) do arise by degrees one after another gradu- 
ally, and when the gross body is digested, then the 
inward virtue (which lay hid and captivated in the body 
of phlegm) appears in its own friendly form, with a most 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 119 

lively and pleasant color, smell, and taste; this is the 
point of time all preparers of food ought to understand, 
for if their preparation be continued any longer, the 
operation of nature goes backward towards the centre 
of the original fire, then Saturn and Mars and their 
properties are presently awaked, which do cause the 
color, smell, and taste of such food to change ; the first 
degree the color alters to, is a dusky yellow, and if the 
preparation be continued, by degrees it turns blackish, 
till at last it will become black or a deep red, or of a 
mixed streaked color, all according to the property 
which does predominate in the original or dark fire, 
also, all such food is of a gross and fulsome smell and 
taste, unpleasant both to the palate and stomach. 

Preparing of food is a greater art and mystery than 
many housewives and others do think, and if it be well 
and properly performed, it adds much to the preservation 
of the health both of body and mind, for everything has 
power to awaken its simile in the body. Therefore 
every one ought to use that care and understanding in 
the preparations of all sorts of food, that the meek and 
most friendly life be preserved from suffering violence. 

OF BROILED FLESH. 

Broiled flesh was much used in former ages, but now 
it is little in fashion, in comparison of the afore-men- 
tioned preparations. Flesh dressed this way is much 
sweeter and fuller of life and spirit than baked or fried, 
by reason it does not boil in its own fat, as the other 
two do ; also, it is quickly prepared, and the gross hu- 
midity in the flesh does freely purge and run into the 
fire; it lias likewise the free egress and regress of the 



120 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

air, the fire being full of lively, brisk spirits, which in 
ovens and frying-pans are destroyed, by which means 
the heat becomes more gross and sulphurous, like the 
heat of charcoal, which does suffocate the pure spirits, 
and then the fat becomes of a heavy, gross, and oily 
quality, with a strong taste and smell; which gross 
matter in broiled flesh is destroyed ; therefore it does 
not only eat sweeter, but breeds better nourishment, if 
the fire be clear, and done as it ought ; the fire of wood 
does prepare all sorts of food sweeter and better than 
coal, and renders it much wholesomer ; for in all prepara- 
tions in which the food does boil in its own fat, or in fat 
put to it, if it hath not plenty of water and the free 
influences of the air, the gross humidity in the fat does 
suffocate the pure spirits, and then the sweet body 
(which all fat does afford great store of) becomes gross 
and fulsome in smell, taste, and operation, which will 
quickly cloy the stomach, and generates burdensome 
humors in the body, because the pure virtue and friendly 
quality in food so prepared, is in part destroyed. If this 
was understood, people would not be in love with such 
preparations, for through frequent use and continual 
custom of eating food badly prepared, the palate is 
adulterated ; and although such food be strong and ful- 
some (which always comes to pass when the pure spirits 
are wounded in the preparation), nevertheless the palate 
is not capable to distinguish tastes, for the senses are 
easily made friendly (by use and custom) to the greatest 
part of things. Do not all stinking trades (which at 
first are unpleasant to the sense of smelling) become 
after a little use and custom easy to be endured'? and 
such cannot well distinguish the air of tallow-chandlers' 
and butchers' shops from sweet, pleasant airs. If this 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 121 

were not so, it would be impossible for nature to endure 
those adulterations and unnatural preparations of food. 
Therefore we see what a wonderful power there is in 
everything to awaken and strengthen its likeness in the 
human nature ; for this very cause the most illuminated 
Prophet Moses commanded the People of Israel "that 
they should not only abstain from eating unclean crea- 
tures, but that they should also separate themselves from 
every unclean thing, for he was sensible that man was 
capable to be wrought on by all things, because he has 
a simile with all. There is more in this than many 
imagine, which every one ought to consider, not only in 
preparations of food, but in all other things. 



Suggestions to the Neivly Married. — Every little thing 
can blast an infant blossom; and the breath of the south 
can shake the little rings of the vine, when first they 
begin to curl like locks of a new-weaned boy ; but when 
by age and consolidation they stiffen into the hardness 
of a stem, and have, by the warm embraces of the sun, 
and the kisses of heaven, brought forth their clusters, 
they can endure the storms of the north, and the loud 
noises of a tempest, and yet never be broken ; so are the 
early unions of an unfixed marriage — watchful and ob- 
servant, jealous and busy, inquisitive and careful, and 
apt to take alarm at every unkind word. After the 
hearts of the man and the wife are endeared and har- 
dened by a mutual confidence and experience, longer 
than artifice and pretence can last, there are a great 
many remembrances, and some things present, that 
dash all little unkindnesscs to pieces. 



122 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 



OF ALE, AND ITS NATURE AND OPERATION, AS 
ALSO OF BEER. 

Ale hath the first place of all drinks made with malt, 
and is of greatest antiquity. That ale is best that is made 
after this manner: — 

1st. That the liquor or water that you put to your 
malt be made boiling hot, but not boil, and then put 
into your mash-tub or vessel, and let it stand a little 
while before you put your malt to it, which will some- 
what moderate the fierce heat of the water, thereby 
rendering it more capable to receive the virtues and 
sweet quality of the malt, which violent hot water will 
not do so well ; for it doth not only hurt the pure 
spirituous parts of the malt, but will fix or harden the 
malt, so that the sweetness and good virtues will not so 
easily give themselves forth into the water ; also, if you 
put the malt into the water very hot, then it will tinge, or 
cause the wort to become of a red, martial color ; but on 
the contrary, the cooler the water is when you put in 
the malt, the paler or more venereal will the color of 
your wort be, which is the best color of the two, for all 
ale that does look clear and white is to be preferred 
before that which hath a high, martial, red color. And 
in some parts of England there is such ale made, which 
is much liked; but this commendable white color de- 
pends also upon the well making of the malt, viz., in 
the fuel and degrees of fire they dry or fix it with, for 
if the heat be too strong or fierce, or if the egress or 
regress of the air be hindered, or any other accident 
happen of the like nature, then such malt will make ale 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 123 

and beer to look of a reddish, martial color, which is not 
to be commended, though some ignorantly cry it up. 
For the predominant quality in all sorts of corn stands 
in the white, and all the pure virtue and sweet body of 
it proceeds from the predominant quality of Venus, there- 
fore the more gentle, mild, and natural the preparation 
is from the beginning to the end, the more wholesome 
and balsamic will the ale be. If the malt be dried with 
too hot or fierce a fire, whence the color happens to the 
ale, it shows violence done to the essential spirits, which 
also happens in brewing when the malt is put to the 
water too hot, or by overmuch boiling of the wort, which 
is not commendable in ale, for good ale may be made 
with little or no boiling, and indeed there is not much 
reason for the much boiling of any sort of drink made 
of malt, except you design to keep it a great while. For 
the boiling of ale doth cause a too great evaporation of 
the volatile spirit and balsamic virtues, which will not 
endure the harsh fire, for this cause strong wort will 
waste and evaporate as much in quantity in one hour as 
small shall in three and more. Besides, boiling these 
liquors destroys their mild, gentle, cleansing qualities, 
and fixes them, making them hotter and fiercer in ope- 
ration, for the more you evaporate or destroy the sweet 
body of anything, the stronger and fiercer the original 
qualities become, and appear more external, but so long 
as the pure volatile spirit and sweet balsamic body pre- 
dominates, the strong, fiery original spirit of Saturn and 
M;ns lies as it were hid; and seeing all the friendly and 
wholesome virtues of ale reside in the sweet body, you 
ought not to destroy that by overmuch boiling. 

Nay, I will add, that the best and most wholesome 
ale may be made, and not boiled at all, as some in this 



124 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

nation do, which does but waste it in quantity, and 
make it worse in quality, so that it becomes hotter in 
operation, and a friend to the generation of the stone. 
Every one knows, or may know by experience, that beer 
heats the body more than ale ; the reason is, the bal- 
samic virtues in beer are in part destroyed by boiling, so 
that it "becomes more like a spirit, and therefore it will 
keep longer, and because of its lasting, most people 
imagine it the best, which is a great mistake, for they 
might as well say, that the best sack drawn off by dis- 
tillation into a spirit, is better to drink than the sack 
was ; whereas, I think the contrary is known to every- 
body of common sense. The nearer you bring anything 
to its original, by destroying the balsamic virtues and 
middle qualities or vegetative virtue, the longer that 
thing will keep sound ; this is manifest in all spirits 
drawn from any wines or other balsamic liquors ; for this 
reason, beer that is boiled most will longest keep from 
turning sour or flat ; but still, this is no argument that 
it is therefore the best and wholesomest ; for the pre- 
dominant quality in all strong beer, especially if it be 
kept to be stale, is of a fierce, harsh, martial, and satur- 
nine heat, of a hard, greedy nature, which infects the 
blood with fretting, eating humors, very prejudicial to 
health ; also, it generates the stone, not so much from 
the hops (which many accuse as the chief cause), but 
for that the pure, sweet body is in so great a measure 
destroyed in the boiling it to such a height that it 
might keep ; not but that the hops do help to heat the 
body, and cause the stone and other diseases, but not 
purely and merely as they are hops ; but this comes to 
pass from the preparation, for hops in their own nature 
have no such operation to cause the stone, but altogether 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 125 

the contrary, for hops are of an opening, cleansing na- 
ture, and they powerfully purge by urine, and make 
excellent medicines against the stone and dropsical dis- 
eases ; but all their natural medicinal virtues are destroyed 
in their being boiled in the beer, and then there remains 
in them chiefly the martial, harsh, fiery property, which 
helps to preserve the beer from growing flat or eager, 
but it augments its heat, and makes it of a harsher ope- 
ration. And as the boiling of ale destroys the sweet, 
cleansing, purging quality, and causes it to evaporate, 
just so it does by hops, and so much the more, because 
in them the volatile spirit stands, as it were, external, 
for the sun and elements have exhaled the gross, 
phlegmy substance, and thereby set the spirituous parts 
at liberty, only being close stuffed into bags, preserves 
them from evaporating whilst there they continue, but 
as soon as they come into the fierce, boiling liquor or 
wort, these essential virtues and good qualities are de- 
stroyed and flee away ; but still there remains the original 
strong, bitter quality, which cannot be destroyed by 
boiling, except they be- annihilated, for it is the root of 
its life. Now this bitter quality in hops is of a harsh, 
astringent nature, and very hot, as the original spirit in 
all things is. For this cause all beer that is boiled much, 
and hath store of hops in it, will keep a long time ; but 
then it heats the body and causes the stone, if it find 
matter to work upon, and several other infirmities, so 
that it is no ways to be accounted so good as ale. 

For ale is a very excellent sort of drink, if well 
ordered, and as the predominant quality in beer is mar- 
tial and saturnine, hot and fierce, so, on the contrary, 
that in ale is solar and venereal, viz., sweet and balsamic, 
indued with a mild, soft, friendly nature and gentle 



126 THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 

operation; it sweetens the blood, opens the body, and 
purges by urine. Hops are very wholesome to be put 
into ale in a small quantity, but they ought not to be 
boiled ; but thus you may do it ; fill your copper or vessel 
you use for that purpose with your wort, make it boil- 
ing hot, then take what quantity of hops you please, and 
infuse them about half an hour, and then strain them 
out, not letting it boil at all, and then for certain you 
have all the virtues of the hops that are proper for the 
body, for the wort will extract and receive the pure 
spirituous parts and balsamic virtues of the hops in as 
little or less time than the hot liquor did the sweet 
quality of the malt in the mash-tub. There is the very 
same cause and reason for the one as for the other. 

Likewise the ale ought to be thoroughly wrought or 
fermented, that thereby it may be cleansed from its 
teasty substance, which most ale in London is clogged 
with, which makes it grow sour in a few days; and 
besides, before it is sour it fouls the body and sends 
dull dark fumes into the head, palls and flattens the 
edge of appetite, and disorders the stomach. But none 
of these inconveniences happen when ale is well brewed, 
and has wrought as it should do, wherein special care is 
to be taken that it be not set to working whilst the wort 
is too hot, for that causes too violent a motion, which 
weakens the original heat, suffocates and wounds the 
pure spirit, which some call fretting, and this does in 
some degree destroy the balsamic or sweet body; and 
whenever it happens, or that your drink works too much 
or too furiously, be it ale or beer, it will not keep, but 
turn sour or eager sooner than the other that is put to 
work in such a degree of heat as it will but just move 
or ferment gently and mildly; for if your wort be put 



THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH. 127 

a working before the fiery heat or sulphurous vapors be 
extinguished, which are of a contrary nature to the 
genuine natural heat of the wort, as containing the 
fierce spirits of the fire, then presently the balsamic 
body is wounded and turns sour sooner or later accord- 
ing to the degree of the motion ; for this fierce motion 
or working wastes the pure spirituous balsam, and 
awakens the original qualities of Saturn and Mars, viz., 
an astringent eagerness, or sour, hard quality, that 
would not have been manifested if this irregular motion 
had not excited it. 

On the other side, the wort ought not to be cold, for 
then the spirituous quality becomes (as it were) flat, for 
the heat that proceeds from fire, and remains in such 
liquor, is a great quickener and awakener of all the 
properties, and of good use in this respect, provided it 
be not too fierce. And further note, that all stale, hard 
beer, whether strong or small, is more or less injurious 
to most men's health, especially those whose natures 
are subject to breed the stone and gravel. 



"Abstinence starves a growing distemper." And, 
doubtless, were greater regard paid to the dietetic part 
of medicine, to temperance, and abstemiousness, very 
little occasion would there be for alexipharmic boluses, 
febrifuge draughts, or cordial juleps. To extinguish the 
trade of the doctor, the cook and the wine merchant, 
whose very arts minister to and promote those vices 
which cause disease, must be made to relinquish theirs. 



128 death's sermon. 



DEATH'S SERMON. 



" "What man is he that liveth, and shall not see Death ?" — Psalm lxxxix. 
v. 48. 

"Be thou faithful unto Death, and I will give thee a crown of Life." — Rev. 
ii. v. 10. 

"And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and the man that sat on him was 
Death"— 

" And the kings of the earth, and the great men, and the rich men, and 
the chief captains, and the mighty men, and every bondman, and every free- 
man, hid themselves in the dens, and in the rocks of the mountains." — Rev. 
vi., v. 8 and 15. 



What wild creation of a fev'rish brain 

Is this, which mocks my sight with ghastly forms 

Of skeletons — grotesque yet terrible'? 

Is 't an illusive vision, conjured up 

To cheat the eye and scare the tim'rous soul? — 

Ha ! — no — 'tis real ! see — one moves ! he speaks ! 

And in the attitude of preaching stands — 

His book before him, resting on a desk 

Made up of human bones ! — Ah ! now I see 

'Tis Death! gaunt Preacher! whose rude pulpit's placed 

Within the precincts of the charnel house ; 

Where bones on bones, in heaps unnumber'd. lie, 

And fetid exhalations taint the air ! 

There, on the mould'ring relics of mankind, 

The all-subduing Monarch of the Tomb 

His station takes — as if to make frail man 

With man's inevitable fate familiar. — 

Mark ye his outstretch'd arm and withering look ! 

While tones sepulchral from his lipless jaws 

Resound, like thunder in a troubled sky 




DEATH PREACHING. 



death's sermon. 129 

"When nature is convuls'd, and man and beast 
Quail at the crash, and dread of the fiery bolt ! 
And see — the hollow sockets of the eyes 
Gleam with a lurid light, which fearless none 
Can view ! O how terrific is the scene ! — 
Now all is hush'd ; for e'en the last faint sound 
Of murm'ring echo dies away. The pause 
How drear ! — Now, now again his deep-toned voice 
Is heard in accents superhuman, loud, 
And awfully sublime ! 

" Though truth may sound 
Ungracious to the ear, where flattery pours 
Its honeyed poison — still the truth I'll speak, 
And though my form appalling to the sight 
Be deem'd — still shall that form be view'd. 
Mercy and Might with Death go hand in hand ! 
And Mercy bids me throw aside the veil 
That screens mortality from outward ken, 
And keeps mankind in ignorance of self ! 

" The great Deliverer of Man am I, 
Although of mortal Life the Conqueror ; 
For though at human pride my shafts I hurl, 
And into atoms crush the saunting fools 
Who, with prosperity intoxicate, affect 
To heed me not — yet from the direst woes 
I rescue the oppress'd, and with a wreath 
Of never-fading glory bind their brows. 
And shall my wondrous attributes remain 
Unnotic'd or contemn'd my pow'r forgot, 
Which earth, and air, and sea encompasseth ? 
Shall I not use that glorious privilege, 



'130 death's sermon. 

Which both to mercy and to might belong — 

Now striking terror in obdurate hearts, 

And punishing men's crimes — now turning from 

The error of their ways the penitent, 

And leading them in paths of righteousness % 

" When hydra-headed Vice o'er all the earth 
Triumphant stalks — and man is sunk in crime ; 
When mad Ambition, Av'rice, lust of Power, 
Hate, Ilapine, Envy, and fierce Discord reign ; 
And when the child of Merit droops his head, 
And pines in want, while bloated Ignorance 
Luxurious revels in his splendid halls, 
In vain shall Man exhort his fellow-man : 
A worm, alas, remonstrates with a worm ! 
In vain shall Preachers, whatsoev'er their creed, 
Anathemas denounce, or woo their flocks 
With promises of pardon and of peace : 
Though gifted with persuasive eloquence, 
Though every precept spoke a truth divine, 
Without My aid would Preachers preach in vain,- 
Their words — as evanescent as the wind 
That whispers in the grove at eventide, 
And then is heard no more. 

" But I am fear'd ! 
For my dominion over all extends, 
And naught can circumscribe my sov'reign will, 
To Me, though not in homage, all men bow ! 
Yea, e'en the mighty puppets of the earth, 
Surrounded by the minions of their will, 
And deck'd in all the mockery of state, 
Crouch, like the veriest slaves, at my approach, 



death's sermon. 131 

And by pray'rs, and vows, and floods of tears, 
To 'crastinate their sure impending doom. 
Yet such is oft their arrogance and pride, 
And such the madness of the vassal crew, 
Who blindly follow in the vain pursuit 
Of glittering glory and of noisy fame ; 
That were not I to check their vile career, 
Ills, far more grievous than Egyptian plagues, 
The world would so infest, that Honor, Truth, 
Love, Friendship, Hope, and heav'n-born Charity, 
To other spheres would flee, and leave this orb 
To man's unbridled violence a prey, 

" Yet though none dare dispute my boundless sway, 

My actions none will bear in memory. — 

When foam-crown' d billows sweep across the deck, 

The awe-struck seaman, clinging to the mast, 

Sees me with terrors arm'd, and dreads the surge 

That soon may overwhelm him in the deep : 

But when the storm subsides, forgotten quite 

The waves which, tempest-toss'd, dash'd o'er his head, 

And but an hour before had fill'd his mind 

With all the horrors of a wat'ry grave ! — 

'Tis thus with all mankind. When near I'm view'd, 

Appall'd by guilty fears, they dread my dart; — 

But seen afar, or veil'd in some disguise, 

They act as though my power they despised, 

Or treat me as a bugbear, fit for naught 

But keeping fools and children in subjection. 

" Tis strange — 'tis wonderful — that Man, endow'd 
With reasoning pow'rs — with faculty of speech — 
With clear perceptions, knowing right from wrong; — 



132 death's sermon. 

That Man, who bears the impress of his God ; — 

That Man to whom the sacred truth's reveal'd 

That mortal life is but probationary; 

And that his essence, purged from fleshly sin, 

Shall at the last great day e'en Death and Time 

O'ercome, and take its flight to realms of bliss, 

Surrounded by the spirits of the just, 

And angels, hymning great Jehovah's praise ; 

'Tis wonderful, that Man, of this assur'd, 

And the dread certainty before his eyes 

That everlasting woe the wretch awaits 

Who scorns high Heaven's reward — should plunge in 

crime, 
And rush, regardless, tow'rds a precipice, 
Beneath whose frightful brink perdition yawns ! 

" What ! will you risk your soul's eternal peace, 

To gain some perishable gewgaw here 1 

Or, what more likely is — to lose the substance 

And the shadow too — to earn men's curses first, 

Then die the martyr of some guilty wish, 

Some meditated, unrepented crime 1 

Alas ! ye will. Then am I man's best friend, 

And most his friend when speedy aid I give, 

To save him from himself — his direst foe ! 

1; Dark is the picture, but the tints are true ; 
For though the gloss of flattery I despise, 
No shades unreal, for effect, I use ; 
'Tis color'd from the life — the life of man ! 

"And what is Life 1 ? — at best a dream of Hope, 
Where fairy visions of delight appear 



133 



To dance before the eye ; but vanish quite, 
And leave a dreary blank behind, when those 
Who trust in their reality awake ! 
O 'tis a pageant — unsubstantial, vain, 
And falsely gay! — and what are all its joys'? 
Mere childish baubles — playthings of an hour — 
CalPd pleasure, wealth, or fame ; which if possess'd, 
Bring with them anxious cares and countless toils 
In lieu of earth's best treasure, sweet content ! 

" From infancy to age, the scenes of Life, 

Howe'er the colors vary, all abound 

"With sombre shadows of mortality. — 

The laughing eye and dimpled cheek of Youth 

Though bright and blushing as the rosy morn, 

At unrequited love or blighted hope 

Change fearfully. — In all the pride of strength 

Manhood may walk erect ; but soon the brow 

W r ith care's deep furrows is engrav'd — the eyes 

With tedious vigils red — the firm, bold step, 

Cautious and timid grows — while anxious fears 

Are painted on the sallow cheek, where health 

Once bloom'd, and manly beauty shone. Then Age 

(If Life's contracted span to Age extend) 

Comes tott'ring on, in sad decrepitude, 

Bending beneath a load of pain ; while scanty 

Locks of silvery hair^ and eyes grown dim, 

And ears which sluggishly their task perform, 

Arc Nature's never-failing messengers, 

Old Age to warn, that death in mercy comes 

To close the scene, and from its bondage free 

Tli' imprison' d soul, which pants for liberty ! 



134 death's sermon. 

" Thus having Life's brief hist'ry fairly sketch'd, 
Now let me turn to what Life leaves behind. 
Look here ! around me lie the frail remains 
Of rich and poor, of weak and strong, of sage 
And fool, of culprit and of judge. This skull, 
Now crumbling into dust, was once th' abode 
Of brains which teem'd with scientific lore ; 
And when its owner dropt into the grave 
(But not till then), the giddy multitude 
Enamor'd grew of that which erst they scorn'd, 
And treated as a maniac's rhapsodies. 
The reason's plain. Int'rest his soul ne'er sway'd ; 
He neither truckled to the great, nor bent the knee 
At Mammon's shrine ; gold he accounted dross ; 
And spurn'd all laws save those by Virtue made. 
He heeded not the scoffs and sneers of men : 
Science his mind illum'd; Hope cheer'd his path; 
And when I call'd him hence his placid eye 
Was lighted up by an approving conscience, 
That gave assurance of eternal bliss. 
That was the cranium of a senseless dolt — 
One of those barren spots on Nature's map, 
Where mental tillage is a hopeless toil : 
Yet while he liv'd, although his ev'ry act 
Was folly, and stultiloquence his speech, 
The world applauded him, and flatt'rers round 
His table throng'd, like drones about a hive : 
And why % The dunce was rich, and lavish'd all 
His wealth upon the fawning knaves who bow'd 
Before this 'god of their idolatry.' 

" See what a motly and incongruous heap, 
In undistinguish'd fellowship are here ! 



death's sermon. 135 

The head which once a proud tiara wore, 

Unconscious, rests upon a ploughman's cheek ; 

And that which, animate, promulgated the law, 

Serves as a pillow for a felon's skull. 

Huge legs, that once with sinews striong were brac'd, 

And arms gigantic, that, encas'd in steel, 

Wielded the sword, or rais'd the massive shield, 

Now rest in quiet with the stripling's limbs, 

Or relics sad of beauty's fragile form. 

And where's the difference now % — What boots it, then, 

To know the deeds or qualities of either % 

Rank, honors, fortune, strength Herculean, 

Fame, birthright, beauty, valor, or renown, 

What trace is left of ye ? What now denotes 

Th' imperial ruler from the meanest boor — 

The recreant coward from the hero brave 1— 

Here all contentions cease. The direst foes 

Together meet — their feuds for ever past ; 

No burnings of the heart, no envious sneers, 

No covert malice here, or open brawls 

Annoy. All strife is o'er. The creditor 

His debtor no more sees ; for here all debts 

Are paid — save that great debt incurr'd by Sin, 

Which, when the final day of reck'ning shall 

Arrive, eancell'd will be, or paid in full ! 

Let, then, this solemn truth your minds impress — 

In your heart's core O let it be engraved — 

That, though the body in the silent tomb 

Be laid — though greedy worms the flesh destroy, 

And ' dust to dust return' — the soul shall live 

Eternal in the heav'ns, or dwell in realms 

Where fell Despair and endless Terror reign. 

Then — if the dazzling lustre of high birth 



136 death's sermon. 

Shall fail to shield you from the woes of life ; 

If grandeur be accompanied by care ; 

If under glory's mask, or fame's disguise, 

There lurk the latent seeds of deadly strife ; 

If ills prolific fill the breast of pride, 

And pomp external hide deep inward griefs ; 

If jealousy on beauty's vitals prey 

Or envy give a jaundiced hue to eyes 

Which else with genius' brightest rays would shine 

In fine — if perfect happiness on earth 

Exist but in the visionary's dream; — 

The first great object of your soul's concern, 

Is — how t' obtain th' invaluable key 

By which the gate of mercy is unlock'd, 

And life and happiness eternal gain'd \ 

" What ! do I read in your inquiring looks 
That you would fain this sacred treasure find 1 
Go, then, and Virtue ask ; — she'll loud proclaim, 
' The key to Heaven is a conscience clear.' 
Conscience ! thou never-erring monitor ; 
Throughout life's pilgrimage the faithful guide ; 
Conscience ! by whom the soul of man is warn'd 
To shun the quicksands of a treach'rous world ; 
How little art thou heeded ! — Yet Life's bark, 
Though toss'd by storms of trouble and despair 
Upon the billows of uncertainty, 
Guided by Conscience, safely shall arrive 
At that bless'd port of everlasting rest, 
That haven of perpetual delight, 
AVhose waves pellucid lave Jehovah's throne." 

Ha ! — see, the awful Preacher disappears ! 

His desk and book are gone — and once more all 



DEATHS SERMON. 137 

Is still ! — Yet there's the charnel-house ; and there 
The auditors in wild amazement stand ! — 
O let me homeward turn, and meditate 
Upon the solemn scene. 



Attention to Health. — Among the innumerable follies 
by which we lay up, in our youth, repentance and re- 
remorse for the succeeding part of our lives, there is 
scarce any against which warnings are of less efficacy 
than the neglect of health. When the springs of motion 
are' yet elastic, when the heart bounds with vigor, and 
the eye sparkles with spirit, it is with difficulty that 
we are taught to conceive the imbecility that every 
hour is bringing upon us, or to imagine that the nerves, 
which are now braced with so much activity, will lose 
all their power under the gripe of time, relax with 
numbness, and totter with debility. Health is, indeed, 
so necessary to all the duties as well as pleasures of 
life, that the crime of- squandering it is equal to the 
folly ; and he that for a short gratification brings weak- 
ness and disease upon himself, and for the pleasure of a 
few years passed in the tumults of diversion and the 
clamors of merriment, condemns the maturer and more 
experienced part of his life to the chamber and the 
couch, may be justly reproached, not only as a spend- 
thrift of his own happiness, but as the robber of the 
public — as a wretch that has voluntarily disqualified 
himself for the business of his station — and refused that 
part which Providence assigns him in the general task 
of human nature. 



138 DEATH TO HIS AMERICAN CORRESPONDENT. 

DEATH (A DEALER) 

TO HIS AMERICAN CORRESPONDENT. 

Per post, sir, received your last invoice and letter, 
No consignment of your's ever suited me better : 
The burnt bones (for flour) far exceeded my wishes, 
And the cocculus indicus beer was delicious. 

Well, I 'm glad that at last we have hit on a plan 

Of destroying that long-living monster, poor man : 

With a long-neck'd green bottle I '11 finish a lord, 

And a duke with a pate a la perigord ; 

But to kill a poor wretch is a different case, 

For the creatures vnll live, though I stare in their face. 

Thanks to you, though, the times will be speedily alter'd, 
And the poor be got rid of without being halter'd: 
For ale and beer drinkers there's nothing so proper as 
Your extracts of cocculus, quassia, and copperas — 
Call'd ale, from the hundreds that ail with them here, 
And beer, from the numbers they bring to their bier ! 

In vain shall they think to find refuge in tea — 
That decoction's peculiarly favored by me ; 
Sloe-leaves make the tea — verdigris gives the bloom — 
And the slow poison 's sure to conduct to the tomb. 
As for coffee, Fred Accum well knows the word means 
Naught but sand, powder, gravel, and burnt peas and 
beans. 



DEATH TO HIS AMERICAN CORRESPONDENT. 139 

But let us suppose that they drink only water — 
I think there may still be found methods to slaughter 
A few of the blockheads who think they can bam me 
By swallowing that tasteless liqueur, — Well, then, 

d me 

(You'll pardon my wrath), they shall drink till they're 

dead 
From lead cisterns — to me 'twill be sugar of lead ! 

When deeper-purs'd fellows, addicted to swill, would 
Drink port — I'll make use of your load of Brazil wood : 
But I wish you'd send more laurel-leaves and sweet 

brier 
For such as may like sherry flavored much higher! 
For the bottles, — you know, Sir, I'm fairly entrusting 

'em 
To your tartrate of potash for finely incrusting 'em : 
Laurel-water, oak sawdust, and quicklime have come 
Just in time to be mixed with the brandy and rum. 

Beer, tea, coffee, wine, rum, brandy, water — I think 
We've prepared for the stomachs of all those who 

drink.; 
And you'll kindly assist me to work a like feat 
By pois'ning the stomachs of all those who eat. 
Alum, clay, bones, potatoes, shall mix in their bread, 
And their Gloucester derive its deep blush from red 

lead ! 
But why do I mention such matters to yon, 
Who without my poor hints know so well what to do? 
You provide for the grocer, the brewer, the baker, 
As they in their turn do for the undertaker. 



140 DEATH TO HIS AMERICAN CORRESPONDENT. 

P. S. — By the by, let me beg you, in future, my neigh- 
bor, 
To send me no sugar that's rais'd by free labor, 
Unless you can mingle a little less salt 
In the pound — for the public presume to find fault 
With the new China sweet'ning — and though they 

allow 
That they'll take the saints' sugar (attend to me now), 
Even cum grano salis — they do say that such 
An allowance as 30 per cent, is too much. 

Yours, etc., 

DEATH. 



Causes of Disease. — Nothing pesters the body and 
mind sooner than to be still-fed — to eat and ingurgitate 
beyond all measure, as many do. By overmuch eating 
and continual feasts, they stifle nature, and choke up 
themselves; which, had they lived coarsely, or, like 
galley slaves, been tied to an oar, might have been 
happily prolonged many fair years. I tell you honestly 
what I think is the cause of the complicated maladies 
of the human race ; it is their gormandizing, and stuff- 
ing, and stimulating their digestive organs to an excess ; 
thereby producing nervous disorders and irritation. 
The state of their minds is another grand cause ; the 
fidgetting and discontenting yourselves about that which 
cannot be helped; passions of all kinds — malignant 
passions, and worldly cares pressing upon the mind, 
disturb the action of the brain, and do a great deal of 
harm. 



Feed sparingly, and defy the physician. 



OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 141 



OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE, 

THE KNOWLEDGE OF A MAN'S SELF, AND THE MIGHTY 
BENEFITS OF ABSTINENCE AND SOBRIETY. 

Temperance is a divine gift, and whosoever obtaineth 
the perfect government and knowledge of himself, is 
endued with the spring-head of all virtues. The fear 
of the Lord being the first step of all true wisdom, both 
spiritual and natural, the root of all knowledge that 
man is capable of, is in himself; therefore if any will 
understand anything truly, he must first turn the eye 
of his mind inward, not outward, as the custom of most 
is, for man is an image and likeness of all things, both 
spiritual and natural ; in him is contained the true 
nature of all things, and he that doth know and under- 
stand himself, and the principles and operations of his 
own nature, both in body and mind, and what properties 
in the seven-fold Nature of this World are predominant 
in him, and to what his inclinations are most naturally 
propensive, both as to virtue and vice, he may thereby 
not only shun many inconveniencies, but also so much 
as he knows of himself, he also knows of his Creator, 
and of all other things. And so, on the contrary, he 
that doth not know and distinguish the principles of 
God and Nature in himself, does neither see nor know 
any other thing as he ought ; therefore all such who are 
ignorant of themselves, are subject to be changed or 
altered out of one opinion into another, always leaning 
hard on the shoulders of Custom, supporting their 
ignorance with the truth of Tradition, having one of 



142 OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 

their eyes, if not both, amongst the multitude. But all 
true sight in divine and natural things, does arise and 
proceed from the unalterable divine principle or gift of 
God, for the natural man, as he is wholly blind as to 
things divine, so neither does he see even into natural 
things any otherwise than a beast, beholding the out- 
ward substance, but knowing nothing of the inward 
power of the spirit ; or if such do understand anything 
further or more than beasts, it is either by chance or 
custom. But when the eye of a man's understanding 
is opened in the true spirit, he then seeth into his own 
essence and properties, and by the same sight has a 
prospect into the nature of all other things, more espe- 
cially if he be one that is born with a nature adapted 
for the comprehension of such things. 

For this reason it is said — The spiritual man dis- 
cerneth all things, even the deep things of God. But 
nothing hurts and hinders man from obtaining the true 
knowledge of God and Nature in himself, than his 
looking abroad out of himself, imagining that Wisdom 
and Understanding is to be found and learned in and 
from some other thing. Neither do many consider that 
worthy saying of the Apostle, avouching, That what- 
soever may be known of God is manifest in man, not 
without man, but within himself. Man is that city the 
wise man speaks of, in whose gates Wisdom cries ; but 
if man will be gazing abroad, and not regard the inward 
voice in the heart (as most do not), then he can never 
come to any true judgment either in things divine or 
natural, because the foundation of wisdom and right- 
knowing is within a man's self. 

Let us appeal to common Reason. How is it possible, 
if a man do not observe the particular principles and 



OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 143 

operations of his own nature, that he should observe 
and understand those of other things, whose motions 
and various operations he is more remote from, and 
doth not feel \ Therefore if a man would know how to 
rule, govern, and preserve any creature or thing, this 
Wisdom and Knowledge must be first essential in him- 
self, and to understand in particular what things are 
extreme in him, and the contrary, which will much help 
in the way of Temperance and Moderation, with a due 
consideration had to the nature of the food, the age, air, 
employments, etc. ; and also the quantities of all those 
things ought to be regarded, and not to heap together 
too much ; this being a sure rule of health, if a man 
finds himself as lightsome and brisk after meats and 
drinks, or rather more than he was before ; for the in- 
tention of food is to refresh Nature, and not to dull, 
oppress, and incommode her, as most in this particular 
do, especially those whose natural heats are great, and 
appetites strong. 

But full meals, and too frequent use of rich food and 
strong drinks, do breed- too much nourishment, which is 
the original of many diseases ; it furs and stops the pas- 
sages, generates too much blood, and thick, dull spirits, 
which makes the body heavy and lumpish, and by 
awakening the central heat, causes the external parts 
of the body to glow with an unnatural flame, which ob- 
structs the powers, so that the pure, thin vapors of the 
air (which are the refreshing zephyrs of Nature) cannot 
penetrate them as they are wont to do, when the ele- 
ments of the body are free from disorder, for then they 
suck them in like sponges, which renders the body full 
of spirits, brisk, vigorous and sprightly as virgins at a 
wedding, or boys at a festival. 



144 OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 

But this pleasant condition is never felt when the body 
is over-fraight with nourishment, and like a lamp ready 
to be extinguished by superfluity of oil ; therefore solemn 
feasts, and set times for meals, and eating and drinking 
whether they have appetites or no, and other circum- 
stances that attend them, are friends to gluttony, but 
mortal enemies both to temperance and health, when 
people deluge down various sorts of rich food, and cordial 
drinks in a formal method, sitting perhaps two hours, 
enticing one another to gormandize and guzzle, not 
only beyond necessity, but even above the power of 
Nature, and yet not content, after they have already ex- 
ceeded all bounds of temperance with strong foods, then 
in wine, various sorts of fruits, tarts, sweet-meats, and a 
thousand kickshaws, enrich t with the East and West 
Indies ingredients, of themselves more than sufficient for 
a sober and a temperate meal ; in the mean time, few do 
consider the injuries hereby done both to body and mind, 
for this variety hath power to prolong the pleasure of 
the wanton palate, beyond the need of nature, or ability 
of the digestive factilty. For every particular thing open- 
ing by simile its like property in the stomach, it comes to 
pass when a person has eaten to the full, and to the satis- 
faction of the palate of one thing, nevertheless, when 
another of a contrary nature and taste comes, the appe- 
tite is awakened, and he can with pleasure fall to again, 
and so of several varieties, the invention whereof at one 
meal was merely to gratify luxury, by prolonging the 
pleasure of the palate, which could not be done with 
simple meats and drinks. Not but that a man may eat 
several sorts of food and drinks at one meal, without in- 
jury to health, but then they must be homogeneal, that 
is, agreeable to each other, and also he that so eateth, 



OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 145 

must as the wise man adviseth — Put a knife to his throat, 
which very few in this age do observe; but of this we 
shall speak more hereafter. 

As abstinence and sobriety does always fortify the ob- 
servers thereof against many evils, so they make the 
body pleasant, healthful, and fit to discharge all its func- 
tions, and prepare the mind to be The Temple of the 
Lord, as St. Paul calls it. Those that take meats and 
drinks, only for the necessities of nature, and observe that 
the food be not stronger than she, but, on the contrary, 
she stronger than it, such have for the most part great 
spirits, and but little flesh, whereas gluttons have much 
flesh and little spirits. Have not all the holy prophets 
and renowned law-givers from the beginning, been per- 
sons of a wondrous sobriety and temperance, as Moses 
and Elias, who fasted forty days, and yet the face of 
Moses shone, and he could guide his body as if it had 
been a spirit ? And several other (indeed all) holy men 
endued with divine understandings, have been remark- 
able for their temperance. For the spirits of men are 
not earthly things to receive their nourishment through 
the organs by the concoction of meats and drinks only, 
but derive their purer aliment like sponges through the 
whole body, from the clear, thin vapors of the air, which 
do powerfully penetrate the body on all sides, but are 
hindered through superfluity of meats and drinks, and 
so the spirits in the body, for want of being sound with 
these refreshing gales, become thick, and as it were suf- 
focated. 

For this cause most that abandon themselves up to 

gluttony and epicurism seldom attain to old age, or if 

by means of an extraordinary tough constitution they 

do rub out, 'tis with tortures and misery, their bodies 

10 



146 OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 

being as full of diseases as an hospital. But on the 
contrary, many of the sober and temperate men have 
lived to great ages, and yet very free from distempers, 
with mean and spare food, whence does proceed a cool 
airy pleasantness, the sweet influences of all the elements 
freely courting the body, which renders the spirits many 
in quantity, and fine in quality, and thence arises light- 
sorneness to the body, and vigor to the mind. 

The truth of this men may experience, if they will 
but give themselves the leisure to reflect and consider, 
whether or no they do not before meals ordinarily find 
themselves pleasant and lightsome in body and spirits, 
bnt after they have indulged their appetites with an over- 
plenteous feeding, the one is heavy, and the other dull ; 
whereas had they but eaten temperately of simple food, 
it would not only have continued their strength, but 
also have refreshed their spirits, for the pure spirit is the 
true life, pleasure, delight, and beauty of every creature 
according to the nature of each, and causeth the sweet 
oil to burn friendly, and shine with a comfortable ray, 
if it be not wounded by disorders ; this spirit being so 
volatile, and surpassingly pure, that it will not endure 
the least violence, for when any injury is offered to it, 
it either becomes evaporated or suffocated, and then 
presently the vigor and beauty of that thing faileth, be 
it either animal or vegetable. 

Therefore those that do regard the health of the body 
and mind, ought to preserve the spirit free and potent, 
which must be done by sobriety, gentleness, and temper- 
ance in meats, drinks, and exercises. The Prophet 
Daniel and his companions were sensible of this, when 
they were courted, and also threatened with the dis- 
pleasure of the king and his servants, if they would not 






OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 147 

eat of the various sorts of flesh and fish that came from 
the king's table, but Daniel -entreated leave to continue 
that clean, simple food they had accustomed themselves 
unto, viz., herbs, grains, and fruits, and pure water for 
drink. Should not we in this age be ready to count a 
man a fool, and out of his senses, that should refuse royal 
delicacies from the king's table, and choose to live upon 
such mean, coarse fare 1 But Daniel did with a divine 
eye see into the radix of all such things, and understood 
their sympathetical operations, and therefore chose the 
most simple, harmless commons ; for by compounding 
many rich things together, especially such as contain the 
animal and bestial nature, all such things lose their sim- 
plicity, and the true life and pure spirits of each become 
adulterated and changed, and being destitute of its 
proper virtues, becomes of another operation, which 
hath an evil influence on our bodies and spirits, whence 
proceed those frequent infirmities in most that live in the 
height of dainties, the same being neither well-pleasing 
to God nor nature. But, on the contrary, were not the 
sober, clean, and abstemious lives of the Rechabites well- 
pleasing to the Lord ? And did not the Prophet Jere- 
miah call them up into the House of the Lord, as a 
reproach to the Children of Israel, for that they had 
faithfully kept the commandments of their Father, and 
observed the Rule of Moderation, and contented them- 
selves with pure water for drink, and with mean and 
simple food, and therefore he promises them, that the 
sons of Jonadab should never want a man to stand before 
the Lord. "lis most certain that the Lord hath been 
and is near all those that live in temperance and sim- 
plicity. Therefore the Apostle saith, Let your mode- 
ration be known unto all men, the Lord is at hand. 



148 OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 

The Prophet John contented himself with locusts and 
wild honey, ot whom our Saviour Christ saith, That there 
was not a greater prophet born of a woman. Also James, 
the brother of our Lord, was eminent for his abstinence 
(as Eusebius reports) insomuch that he ate no flesh, 
drank no wine nor strong drink, and wore no woollen 
garment, but linen, which is of a cleaner radix than the 
other, for woollens do retain the bestial nature, -as you 
may more manifestly perceive by the smell, if you burn 
them, no washing or other cleansing will purge them 
from that fulsome quality which they send forth when 
they are burnt. Now this stinking nature, so long as it 
continued entire, was hidden or captivated, but the fire 
opens the gross body, and manifests the root ; for this 
cause the prophets and holy men have- so often said, 
That the saints and people of the Lord should be clothed 
in white linen, and the priests of the Lord were to wear 
a linen ephod, for all vegetives are indued with a simple, 
innocent nature and operation, and therefore they have 
been compared to the divine nature, because they bear 
some affinity unto it. 

Those that would have their spirits pure and potent 
must use clean food, which will extenuate the gross, 
superfluous humors, by which the body becomes easily 
penetrable, and he that doth not preserve his body clean, 
the pure spirit becomes, as it were, suffocated, whence 
proceeds a heavy dulness that is not only burdensome, 
but hinders all meditations, and makes the soul incapable 
of every good work; but abstinence and temperance 
do dignify a man, and render him fit for the exercise of 
virtue and piety, and is the root of strength and forti- 
tude. As the mother of Samson was commanded by 
the Angel of the Lord, to abstain from wine and strong 






OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 149 

drink, during the time of her being with child, so was 
Samson, her son, whom the Lord indued with wonder- 
ful strength ; but when he gave himself up to wine and 
strong drink, and other intemperances, he lost all power 
and virtue, and became weak both in body and mind, 
and a prey to his enemies. And is it not so in our 
days? Of most of the miseries and troubles man 
ensnares himself, is not superfluity a main cause'? 
Wherever we see vice, there is also intemperance, and 
where we see temperance and abstinency, we may justly 
expect other virtues, because no superfluous matter is 
bred that may dull or indispose the fancy, the soul being 
watchful in words and works, and also keeping the body 
under, which by the power and virtue of temperance, is 
subjected to the influences of the light and love of God- 
Temperance, cleanliness, and abstinence have greater 
power over the soul and body than most in our days 
imagine. Did not our forefathers live to wonderful ages 
in perfect health, their food in those days being chiefly 
herbs, fruits, and grains, and pure water their drink? 
They did not make their stomachs the burial-places of 
dead bodies, but their meat and drink was innocent and 
simple, by which they were able to check and regulate 
the extravagant motions of the mind, and insurrections 
of the flesh. Hence some of the ancients have delivered 
it as a maxim, that none could understand God and his 
works, and enjoy perfect health and long life, but those 
that abstain from flesh, wine, and vices, bounding their 
desires according to the ends and necessities of nature. 
For where uncleanness and intemperance reign, the 
soul is subjected with the body that it cannot discern 
tilings celestial ; but sobriety and purity of body and 
mind rendersit the Temple of God, wherein his blessed 



150 OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 

spirit delights to dwell, and communicate its gifts and 
graces. 

Most men will, in words, confess that there is no 
blessing this world affords comparable to health, yet 
rarely do any of them value it as they ought to do, till 
they feel the want of it. To him that hath obtained 
this goodly gift, the meanest food, even bread and water, 
is most pleasant, and all sorts of labor and exercise 
delightful, but the contrary makes all things nauseous 
and distasteful. What are full-spread tables, riches, or 
honors to him that is tormented with distempers'? In 
such a condition men do desire nothing so much as 
health, but no sooner is that obtained, but their thoughts 
are changed, forgetting those solemn promises and reso- 
lutions they made to God and their own souls, going on 
in the old road of gluttony, taking little or no care to 
continue that which they so much desired when they 
were deprived of it. Happy it were, if men did but 
use the tenth part of that care and diligence to pre- 
serve their minds and bodies in health, as they do to 
procure money and riches, which many never obtain, 
and those that do, it serves them chiefly to procure those 
dainties and superfluities which do generate diseases, 
and is the cause of committing many other evils, there 
being but few men that do know how to use riches as 
they ought, for there are not many of our wealthy dons 
that ever consider, that as little and mean food and 
drink will suffice and maintain a lord in perfect health 
as the poorest peasant, and render him more capable to 
enjoy the benefit of the mind, and pleasures of the 
body, far beyond all dainties and superfluities. But, 
alas! the momentary pleasures of the throat, custom 
vanity, etc., do ensnare and entice most people to exceed 



OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 151 

the bounds of necessity or convenience, and many fail 
through a false opinion or misunderstanding of nature, 
childishly imagining that the richer the food is, and the 
more they can cram into their bellies, the more they 
shall be strengthened thereby, but experience shows to 
the contrary, for are not such people as accustom them- 
selves to the richest compounded foods, and most cordial 
drinks, generally the most infirm and diseased? For 
all such things contain great store of virtue, and ought 
to be eaten between whiles, according to reason and 
experience, for when the mouth of the stomach is open, 
the pleasant relish of such dainty food does so entice 
and increase the desire of eating and drinking beyond 
what is needful, that a man may eat too much, and yet 
give off with some little appetite, of which we may be 
sensible by that general dulness and indisposition, 
which we find in ourselves for two or three hours after- 
wards. 

People are much mistaken in thinking that* so long 
as the appetite desires, and the pleasure of eating con- 
tinues strong, they may eat on without damage to their 
health. But the truth is, this is one of the chief reasons 
why men are gluttons, and there is but little difficulty 
in temperance, save only in this particular, it being 
somewhat hard for an healthy, good stomached man to 
give off eating in the midst of the pleasure he receives 
by it, especially when meats by art are made on pur- 
pose, not only to prolong the palate, but also to delight 
it. But in him that uses himself to simple meats and 
drinks, the snare of provoking the palate, beyond the 
necessity of nature, is removed, for such cannot entice 
nature out of her way, nor awaken any other properties 
or appetites in the stomach but its own likeness; where- 



152 OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 

as varieties of food do stir up as many various qualities 
in the stomach, so that there is still a fresh desire to 
eat of each thing, till nature is over-cloyed, and there- 
fore varieties are always dangerous if great care and 
temperance be not observed. But he that limits his 
desire by wisdom, and has the understanding both of 
the quality and quantity, may eat of sundry sorts of 
food at one time, but the ignorant and unwise very 
rarely do it without prejudice to their health. 

As the pleasure of Temperance, and the many bene- 
fits that follow Sobriety, cannot be imagined by those 
that live riotous lives, so neither can the sweet influence 
thereof (especially the first) be enjoyed without some 
trouble to Old Adam. There must be self-denial in the 
case, and a man must live in this world as if he were 
alone, for there is but little company in the ways of 
sobriety. "When a man comes once to espouse them in 
earnest, presently most of his friends and acquaintance 
will suspect and condemn him as a conceited, whimsical, 
capricious fellow, or a kind of madman, because he will 
not run with them to the same excess and riot. For the 
flesh and spirit of this world have no affinity with sobriety 
and temperance, proceeding from fountains whose waters 
are of quite contrary nature to the others, the one being 
clear, and pure, which purgeth and cleanseth, preserving 
both the body and spirit in perfect health ; the other, 
being defiled with many superfluities, destroys the health 
of both. Therefore, he that would enjoy the true plea- 
sures, and flourish in the virtues that attend sobriety, 
ought to be as strong as Samson was in his innocent 
life, that he may be able to cut off all superfluity in the 
bud ; For it is not that which goeth into a man (as our 
Saviour Christ saith), but that which proceeds out of him : 



OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 153 

for all kinds of intemperance are first conceived in the 
heart, and if such imaginations are not cut off or over- 
come by wisdom and temperance, then they grow strong, 
and become, as it were, essential; and when the spirit 
and understanding of a man is captivated, then a man 
becomes a tyrant to himself, and a perfect slave to glut- 
tony, being defiled by everything, meats, drinks, words, 
and works ; as the wise man saith, Even the plowing of 
the land is evil to the wicked, for all un cleanliness and 
defilements that happen either to the body or soul, do 
arise and proceed from within, and if such lewd desires, 
opinions, and customs were cut off in the bud, then 
neither body nor soul would be hurt by superfluity of 
meats, drinks, or any other thing ; for every man that 
commits any intemperance, be it what it will, acts it 
first within, and makes it substantial in the spirit, and 
then it becomes corporeal ; for the body is forced to obey 
the dictates of the spirit, whether good or evil, for this 
cause Christ saith, That nothing that went into a man 
defiled him, for he pointed and had an eye to the root 
whence all evils and intemperances arise. His words 
are spiritual, and not otherwise to be understood, for he 
makes no exception, but saith, Nothing that goeth into 
a man defileth him, which words, should they be taken 
in a carnal sense, then our daily experience shows the 
contrary, for many thousands are destroyed both by quan- 
tity and quality of meats and drinks, but they are first 
defiled in the root of their spirits. 

But, on the contrary, no meats or drinks have power 
to hurt or defile that man whose heart and desires are 
governed and moderated by wisdom, and therefore saith 
the Apostle: From whence proceed wars and fightings, 
all lusts, false imaginations and intemperances ? Do they 



154 OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 

not all proceed from within \ For, if a man be ignorant 
of the true nature of things, his understanding and soul 
darkened, then he is subject to be denied by everything, 
for if the nature of things be not discerned nor distin- 
guished by the spirit, such are always liable to be denied 
by every sort of food and drink, either in quantity or 
quality, for where ignorance governs the extravagant de- 
sires are not bounded. For, first, every man is defiled 
by his desires and imaginations, as our Saviour Christ 
saith in another case, He that looketh on a woman, and 
lusteth, is defiled thereby : the same is to be understood 
of all other uncleanlinesses both of body and mind, only 
the evils and defilements are greater when a man pro- 
ceeds to put in practice those things which he first con- 
ceived within by imaginations, for no outward uncleanli- 
ness could ever hurt any man, if the inside were kept 
clean. If understanding and the pure spirit govern 
within, then all unclean desires and imaginations are, as 
it were, cut off in the bud, and not suffered to proceed 
to a substance, and then a man is not defiled either by 
that which goes out, nor by any sorts of meats, drinks, 
or other things that go into the body. And so, on the 
contrary, when the evil, corrupt nature is awakened, and 
has gotten the inward government, then all the desires 
and imaginations are formed, and do proceed from the 
evil principle which first defiles the soul, and then after- 
wards the body. 

This is the very root and foundation of all unclean- 
ness, superfluity, and intemperance ; for every property 
in nature must be supported and fed on its own food. 
Hence all sorts of animals, whose predominant quality 
and ascendant chiefly proceeds from the wrathful and 
unclean nature, do desire a proportionable food, viz., 



OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 155 

raw flesh and sordities ; but, on the contrary, those 
animals whose dignification and chief quality stand in 
and proceed from the clean nature, such creatures also 
do desire clean food. The same is to be understood in 
the human nature ; according to the principle or pro- 
perty that is awakened and most predominant, so is the 
man either clean or unclean, good or evil, from thence 
are all his desires and imaginations framed. 

Thus we see that cleanness and sobriety in meats, 
drinks, exercises, etc., have a greater virtue and excel- 
lency in them than people think, for their power pro- 
ceeds from an inward principle, and they endow their 
observers with the riches both of Time and Eternity, for 
Temperance makes all her lovers truly sensible of God's 
blessings ; how sweet is every mean thing to the sober 
mind, and how ready are such men to give the Lord 
thanks and humble acknowledgments for his mercies X 
They see, feel, and taste the most pleasant operation of 
the divine hand in all things, their bodies are delighted 
with the meanest of food, their minds satisfied, their 
beds easy, and their sleep sound ; they are not subject 
to indispositions, nor molested by fevers, their heads are 
not dulled with fumes, nor their stomachs oppressed 
with fainting fits or windy, griping humors, they rise as 
fresh as the morning sun, and are fit for all exercises, 
both of the body and mind, their radical moisture flows 
freely through every part, like a pleasant gale of wind, 
which moderates the central fires, that they burn not 
too violently. 

But this excellent state is not obtainable without 
Self-denial, and suffering now and then a little gentle 
hunger, which cleanseth the stomach and passages from 
all superfluous matter, frees the spirits from all imper- 



156 OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 

fections, prevents all obstructions, and preserves health 
far better than any physical evacuations. It hath a 
certain occult quality, for the digestive faculty and 
natural heat is never idle, therefore when the stomach 
is not filled with superfluity of food, and often eating, it 
draws away all the superfluous matter that furs and 
stops the passages, and which were apt to cause short- 
ness of breath, send troublesome fumes and vapors to 
the crown, hinder the free circulation of the blood, and 
make the spirits impure. These evils and many others, 
temperance and moderate fastings do prevent, the sto- 
mach naturally drawing this phlegmy substance out of 
all the vessels and passages, when meats and drinks 
come not too quick, and casts the lighter part thereof 
upwards, and the more gross, heavier parts downwards 
into the bowels; for this reason when a man does fast a 
little longer than ordinary, he will feel a kind of a 
gnawing or disorder in his stomach for a little time, and 
then it will cease, and after some space do so again, the 
occasion of which is this, the natural heat does very 
powerfully draw matter unto itself for sustenance, but 
finding no proper nourishment, makes a separation of 
the gross, phlegmy substance that lodges in the vessels 
of the stomach, and casts it forth, both upwards and 
downwards, and having done this, craves afresh for more 
work, and more proper matter of aliment. 

Nor should a little trouble (thwarting our humors, 
debauched with ill customs and wantonness) or some 
small inconveniences, divert us from getting ourselves 
possessed of this jewel Temperance, the true philosopher's 
stone, which turns all into the golden elixir of health, 
content, and serenity, since we see none of the little 
perishing goods of this world are to be obtained without 



OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 157 

trouble and difficulty. Do not youths serve seven years, 
enduring hard labor and many other inconveniences for 
a trade, whereby to get an outward livelihood'? Do 
not men travel by sea and land, through a thousand 
miseries, even to the hazarding of their lives and liberties 
for meat, drink, and a little raiment ] And those few 
that do obtain their desired ends, if temperance be 
wanting, the enjoyment of them proves not only burden- 
some, but so full of snares, that they had better been 
without them ; for plenty has destroyed more than 
necessity (some say, than the sword), the one having 
wherewithal to gratify his superfluous desires, and so 
destroy himself, which the other has not. What a deal 
of pains and charge are people at to please their liquorish 
palates \ The Indies must be sent to for rarities, and 
the utmost parts of the earth for dainties ; such abund- 
ance, such variety provided, as if all the beasts and 
fowls in Noah's Ark, with an addition of all the fishes 
in the waters, and vegetables of earth, were scarce 
enough to furnish one luxurious board ! And then 
what curiosity in sauces \ What fantastic humors for 
dressing] The more extravagant and unnatural, the 
more genteel and acceptable, forsooth ! Whereas those 
things that are necessary to support and preserve the 
body in perfect health, are easily procurable, of small 
charge, soon made ready, and with very little trouble; 
they arc in most places ready and familiar, to be ob- 
tained with ease and pleasure, without violating justice, 
or hazarding either your conscience or your liberty. 

Furthermore, temperance is a strong bulwark against 
that pernicious enemy of mankind, viz., despair or 
suspicion of the divine hand of Providence, against the 
frowns and casualties of this world. What cares that 



158 OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 

man if he have not money to buy wine, who, by use, 
finds water no less pleasant, and more wholesome \ 
Why should one bemoan .not having half a score of 
dishes, when one will serve him not only as well, but 
better'? Sobriety makes a man superior to those vain, 
fearful, repining imaginations, whereunto most, or in- 
deed all superfluous, intemperate people are subject, and 
when poverty comes upon them they are doubly miser- 
able, because they had inured themselves to unneces- 
saries before, the absence of which more torments them 
than any real wants that they lie under. But he that 
gives the government of himself to wisdom, and has the 
true knowledge of God's love, and the eternal principle 
of light in himself, and admits it to have its operation 
in the soul and body, and who sees with an inward eye 
the great virtue and fortitude there is in every simple 
grain, fruit, and herb, and who hath also bounded his 
desires to the necessities of nature, there is no such 
great reason that such a man should trouble his head 
with care and suspicion, and tire his body with over 
laboring; for fruits, herbs, milk, bread, and water are 
easily procured. And what sober man in the world is 
reduced to that extremity, as to want such things, ex- 
cept in universal calamities'? 

Every man ought to understand that heaviness, op- 
pression of nature, and dulness, proceed from the 
abundance of thick, putrid humors, which stop up the 
passages and cloy the joints, filling them with gross 
moisture, so that the course of the spirits is hindered, 
and they, as it were, suffocated, which causes various 
distempers in the body, that men would give all the 
world, if they had it, to be cured of — but no physic can 
help them, unless the excellent lady Sobriety be their 



OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 159 

doctress, for it must be a clean, simple, well ordered 
diet only, that can fine the blood by degrees, out of 
which pure spirits are generated, in the goodness of 
which all health, and the whole prosperity of the body 
and mind doth consist, whereas surplusage of nourish- 
ment destroys the spirits and damnifies all the senses, as 
that of seeing is hurt by gross humors that obstruct the 
optic nerves. And therefore those that are subject to 
weak eyes ought to abstain from all such things as 
replenish the head with fumes, such are all sorts of fat 
meat, butter, and the like, taken in too great a quantity, 
as also strong, thick drinks, especially such wherein 
wormwood, or any strong, bitter herbs are infused, for 
all such things are very hurtful to the eyes, as experi- 
ence shows. Likewise, such superfluous matter offends 
the organs of hearing, and mars the sense of tasting, 
by breeding choleric, salt humors, so that those who 
accustom themselves to excess generally have their 
palates debauched, and cannot give a true judgment of 
the taste of things. 

Now the sorts of food and drinks that breed the best 
blood and finest spirits are herbs, fruits, and various 
kinds of grains, also bread, and sundry sorts of excel- 
lent food made by different preparations of milk, and 
all dry food, out of which the sun hath exhaled the 
gross humidity, by which all sorts of pulses and grains 
become of a firmer substance, so likewise oil is an excel- 
lent thing, in nature more sublime and pure than but- 
ter ; and if you do eat fat flesh, let it be sparingly, and 
not without good store of bread and herbs. 

There are two things in the practice of temperance 
chiefly to be regarded, viz., quantity and quality; the 
latter ought to be considered by every one that is dcsir- 



160 OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 

ous to preserve nature, but error in the former does 
generally the most mischief. For if meats and drinks be 
of a raw, gross nature, and not so well prepared as they 
ought to be, yet if a man eat and drink but sparingly 
with a perfect appetite, the stomach (nature's laboratory) 
will make better nourishment thereof, than it can of the 
best food, when too great quantities are crammed into 
the belly, for the natural heat and stomach are of a 
wonderful nature; when free from these burdensome, 
gross humors it can, as it were, digest and kill the poi- 
sonous juices of unclean food, and by an innate power 
cast off the malignancy thereof if the quantity be not 
too great. In this case abstinence hath been found by 
experience to cure most diseases that have proceeded 
from superfluity, if not gone too far. Therefore quan- 
tity is more dangerous to destroy health than quality, 
though they are both very bad, and often meet together, 
and then health is destroyed with a winged speed, which 
is the chief cause that there are so few, either men, 
women, or children, in perfect health. Where can you 
find a man or woman among such as are intemperate, 
who have attained to the age of forty years, that are in 
perfect health \ the best of them being afflicted with 
windy and scorbutic diseases, which are bred by eating 
too much in quantity, and of an unclean quality. These 
windy diseases are also much increased by the continual 
eating of their food too hot, that is, before the sulphur- 
ous, moist vapors, which are of a fierce and sharp nature, 
are evaporated, for this sulphurous heat, which goes 
away in the moist steam or vapors, does contain the 
spirits of the fire, as also two qualities, viz., a windy, 
moist, dulling nature, and a fierce, sharp, fiery one ; the 
first of these is the cause of most windy diseases, and 



OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 161 

the second does generate in the blood a hot, salt, sharp 
humor, which causeth an itching and breaking out in 
the flesh with spots of various colors, as also a weariness 
and indisposedness through the whole body ; this like- 
wise is the grand cause of many leprous and mangy 
diseases, especially when the food is gross and not well 
prepared, and too much in quantity, which maladies do 
often happen altogether. All food that is prepared by 
fire, should not be eaten till those thick, sulphurous, and 
moist steams be evaporated ; herein many are mistaken, 
and even nature itself is little understood, for the gene- 
rality of people account hot food best and most profita- 
ble for health, and the good dame will be angry if her 
servants delay to eat their food whilst hot. 

But the continual eating of hot food from the womb 
has depraved their stomachs and natural heat, so that 
if they eat their food cold, it will not give them satisfac- 
tion, although hot food is contrary to the pure, simple 
nature, and the health of the body, nevertheless, the con- 
tinual use of such things have awakened their similes in 
the stomach, and that requires their continuation, and 
if a man does leave them, at the first, nature seems to 
want them; the like effect is produced by other un- 
natural customs, as in taking tobacco, it being a strong, 
martial, saturnine herb, of a loathsome, poisonous nature 
and operation, whose predominant quality is of a con- 
trary nature to the stomach and natural heat, there- 
fore, the first taking of it in pipes is both difficult and 
troublesome to nature, and there is no preparation known 
that will make this herb friendly or familiar to nature, 
but only the continual custom of taking it, which does 
awaken and strengthen its own quality in the stomach, 
which in the beginning was weak, but by custom is be- 
ll 



162 OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 

come strong, so great is the power of everything in in- 
creasing its likeness, and it becomes as though it were 
natural, and there is as much difficulty to leave the use 
of those things (if not more) as there was at first to 
make them familiar; the like is true in brandy, etc., for 
the more unnatural and greater the extreme is, the more 
troublesome it is to leave it. 

As for those who are used to eat hot food, and are 
not satisfied with cold, a little custom will bring them to 
a liking of it, for man being a complete image of the 
whole nature of this world, and being endued with the 
true nature of all elemental things, therefore custom will 
make everything, whether good or evil, familiar, to his 
nature. As for my own part, 1 have not been troubled 
with windy diseases, since I left off eating hot food, which 
formerly I was afflicted with ; likewise, the same quan- 
tity of any sort of food eaten cold, when a man is a little 
used to it, will be much easier and pleasanter to the 
stomach than hot, for this swells the body, sends fumes 
into the head, and causeth a heavy indisposition through 
the whole body, but there is such a sottishness and igno- 
rance possesses most people, that they will not go out of 
their old path, following their false prophets, custom and 
tradition, esteeming themselves to be sufficient judges 
in these things. 

Now these windy diseases, and fiery, thin, salt humors 
that are occasioned by the afore-mentioned intemperances, 
are very rarely or seldom ever cured ; for what medicines 
have power to cure, when the same superfluities are 
continued, which are the original of the diseases'? Pray, 
where is the medicine that will cure the French disease, 
if the person infected goes on in his old way of wanton- 
ness 1 The very same is to be understood of all other 
distempers, therefore temperance and sobriety are virtues 



OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 163 

that are absolutely necessary, not only to help and cure 
diseases when they have invaded the body, but also to 
prevent the generations of them, for most distempers, 
with a little help of physic, might be mitigated, if a sober, 
temperate life were observed, so that by degrees little or 
no inconveniency would be felt, but what hopes are 
there, so long as people prefer superfluity and the plea- 
sure of the taste beyond health, eating and drinking of 
various sorts of rich food, and cordial drinks, to the full 
satisfaction of their appetites, which break the bounds 
of temperance, the stomach not being able to make a 
perfect concoction, so that every such meal sows the seeds 
of some gross matter and evil juice, which by degrees 
stops the passages, obstructs the veins, corrupts the blood, 
and from thence flows various indispositions, according 
to the nature of each man's constitution and the degree 
of matter. There are but few that think that those 
oppressions and diseases proceed from a disordered life, 
and a too great quantity of nourishment, but most will 
be apt to believe themselves, alleging, that they got cold 
by leaving off a coat, or by accidental sweating, or some 
other act of carelessness, which must be a mistake, for 
such things have little or no power to hurt the health, if 
there be not matter beforehand, for you may be sure, if 
leaving off a coat do occasion a cold or any kind of stop- 
page, there was some part obstructed before, and the 
radical spirits of that part were weakened by some dis- 
order, or else outward colds would not have had any 
power to seize that part of the body. You may also 
observe, that if any member or part of the body be weak- 
ened by any accident, that part will first complain, when 
either cold seizes it, or when there is any change of 
weather, from whence you may conclude, that the root 



164 OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 

of all or most diseases is, first, some inward contraction 
of matter, caused by superfluity, or other disorder, which 
have weakened the pure, essential spirits, and the bal- 
samic oil and virtues in that part become, as it were, 
sour or sharp, which infects the blood, and then pre- 
sently ariseth a loathing, and the palate cannot distinguish 
the pure relish, nor taste the goodness of any food, the 
attractive quality, and also the natural heat of the sto- 
mach lose their strength and power, then also the reten- 
tive and digestive faculties do cease from their natural 
operations, for when there does happen any violence to 
the pure, volatile spirit and balsamic body, then pre- 
sently the action of the stomach ceases, and then begins 
a loathing, and the original poisons and central heats 
are awakened, which set the whole body into a flame, 
which poisonous fire lay, as it were, hid so long as the 
pure spirit and balsamic body were strong, and this 
continual fiery or brimstony spirit was only a cause of 
motion, giving strength and vigor to the oil of life, which 
oil does mix and incorporate with this sulphurous, fierce 
fire, and makes it more gentle and friendly ; for this oil 
is generated from this sulphurous, poisonous spirit, and 
is, as it were, its sun, and shines back thereinto, and 
does cause it to burn more gently ; but if this pure spirit 
and oil be by any kind of intemperance wounded or 
suffocated, by overcharging nature, then the original 
poisons and sulphurous fires do manifest themselves in 
their own forms, which were captivated and moderated 
so long as the pure spirits and essential oil were strong, 
for this essential oil is the true life of nature, and the 
moderator of the original fire, even as it is in the fire of 
wood, so long as the wood remains entire, and no violence 
done to the pure spirits or essential oil, this fire gives a 



OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 165 

most pleasant and friendly refreshing heat and light, it 
sends forth a bright shine and wholesome smell, very- 
agreeable to the pure spirits of those that are near it ; 
but you will find the contrary, if you offer any violence 
to the pure spirits and essential oil, whence the bright 
shine and friendly nature of wood fire does proceed, as 
is done in making of wood fire into charcoal, for these 
pure spirits and sweet water or oil are suffocated in all 
charcoal. 

For this cause the fire of charcoal is not only stronger 
than the fire of wood, but it sends forth sulphurous 
fumes, which will stupefy and suffocate the pure spirits, 
and dull all the senses, and send dark fumes into the 
head ; the truth of this all people are sensible of, and it 
is for no other reason but because the pure spirits or 
sweet water or oil in the wood, is totally suffocated in 
making it into charcoal, and then the original poisons 
and fierce fire is no longer moderated, but does burn and 
manifest itself in its own nature and form ; this makes 
the difference between the fire of wood and charcoal, 
the one being pleasant and wholesome, the other the 
contrary, and yet they have but one foundation ; the 
very same is to be understood in the human nature, and 
in all other creatures, and in everything according to its 
nature. For this cause, when a man has, through any 
kind of intemperance or superfluity, overcharged nature, 
by which the pure, essential spirits are either evaporated 
or suffocated, and the oil (whence the natural life hath 
its true being) becomes, as it were, soured and made 
keen and sharp, then immediately follow fevers, for all 
fevers do proceed from the awakened poisons (which is 
the original of every life) which should not be stirred or 
awakened. For this cause most people, when sick, are 



166 OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 

afflicted cither with internal or external fevers, some 
greater, others less, according to the age or strength of 
each man's nature; and when men die in the strength of 
their lives, and especially such as have strong fires, what 
terrible fevers will such have, which burns and consumes 
nature in a moment's time ! But those that die or are 
sick in age, and are of weaker heats, their fevers are 
more gentle ; if people understood this, they would not 
be so guilty of intemperance, and so overcharge nature, 
for the meek, friendly life will not endure any violence 
or inequality without prejudice to the health ; for as soon 
as the pure spirits are wounded or evaporated, nature 
falls into an unequal motion, and then. the wrathful, fierce 
fires are stirred up, and then nature is in danger. Take 
what creature or thing you will, if you wound the pure 
spirits, the balsamic body presently turns sour, for one 
cannot subsist without the other, and when this is done, 
then, in a moment's time, the poisonous fierce fire does 
of its own accord manifest itself, which it could not do, 
so long as the pure spirits and balsamic body were strong, 
and did predominate, which does moderate and cause 
this fire to burn more gently. For this cause all wise 
and seeing men have advised to Temperance, and have 
commended all simple and mean food and drinks, espe- 
cially those things in which the qualities of nature stand 
nearest equality; for all such food and drinks do dis- 
tribute and administer due and moist nourishment to 
both body and spirits in an harmonical way, which is 
very agreeable to nature, for all things desire concord 
and unity, it being the highest degree that nature can 
attain to ; also all sorts of food and drinks that do 
chiefly consist of equality, do powerfully beget and 
maintain its likeness in the body, and also in the mind. 



OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 167 

And so, on the contrary, high, rich foods, which consist 
of many ingredients, are of disagreeing natures; and 
drinks, in which the fire burns too fiercely, do often prove 
dangerous to health, because such things are unequal in 
themselves, and except they be taken very sparingly, 
they awaken their likeness in the body, causing nature 
to be unequal in her operations ; therefore, after eating 
and drinking such things there follow indispositions; 
the veins glowing with heat, fumes and vapors flying up 
into the head with a dull heaviness, which is caused by 
the inequality of the food, and the greatness of the 
quantity, which do, for a time (until the natural heat 
hath overcome the food, and made separation), suffocate 
the pure spirits and the oil of life by its gross juices, 
and affording too much nourishment, and if such food 
and drinks be continued, there are but few constitutions 
that can withstand the inconveniences that attend such 
a life, but Abstinency and a sober diet, with exercise, 
arc the only means to abate all superfluous matter — and 
indeed it hinders the generation of all offensive humors. 
Abstinency is the only physician that a man can make 
use of, for it secretly does digest all kind of obstructions, 
and that with great ease and pleasure to the patient, far 
beyond the common and gross drugs which physicians 
administer. Also Abstinency is the most skilful cook, 
giving a most pleasant taste to every mean thing, by 
which a simple person becomes skilful, for he can dis- 
tinguish the taste and the inward sweetness of each 
thing, and he is thereby stirred up with an inward 
inclination to praise and admire God in the use of all 
his blessings. Abstinency does weaken and abate the 
fury of the most choleric complexioned people, that they 
become more sanguine: it openeth the gate of Humility, 



168 OF THE EXCELLENCY OF TEMPERANCE. 

and is a friend to Charity, it encourageth Hope, and is 
the only enemy of that base and cruel spirit, Suspicion, 
the universal fomenter of mankind. Abstinency is a 
sure counsellor and a conductor of all the observers 
thereof, in the ways of Truth, increasing Faith, and 
causeth them to eye and follow the divine hand of 
Providence, giving peace and tranquillity to the mind, 
and health to the body : many are the virtues and bene- 
fits thereof. It also gives Time and Opportunity, and 
is the forerunner of Wisdom. It openeth the hidden 
and secret doors of Nature in a man's self, and renders 
him capable of all discipline, and is the only enemy to 
all Evil, and a friend to all Virtue. The wise and pru- 
dent in all ages have- accounted her their chief friend 
and guide ; by her virtues they have overcome the 
inward enemies of their members. Abstinency also 
preventeth the generation of all superfluous matter, 
whence diseases in the body do proceed; she abateth 
the desires, because a small matter will suffice a regular 
appetite ; resisting pride, and careth not for estimation, 
she conquereth all her enemies, and maketh no noise, 
she beats no drums, nor dischargeth no guns; she pun- 
isheth not the body with labor, nor burdeneth the mind 
with care ; she wearieth not the life by sea nor by land, 
to obtain that which will not stand her instead; she will 
not admit of any controversies nor law-suits ; she will 
not contend for much, for a little supplies her ; she 
standeth still and is silent, and yet obtaineth all things. 



Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy 
wealthy, and wise. 



HEALTH. 169 



HEALTH. 



Health was personified, in the mythology of the an- 
cients, by the goddess Hygeia. With equal nature and 
poetry, they indicated as her favorite abodes spots most re- 
markable for sylvan beauty — the mountain with its shady 
grove, or the undulations of hill and dale, with the clear 
meandering stream, while .over the whole expanse blew 
the light western and southern breeze. She received no 
sacrifices of blood or oriental perfumes ;. her altar was 
strewed with flowers ; her festivals were kept with the 
music of the shepherd's pipe and the dance of the rustic 
maidens. Temples were erected to her in the cities : 
but she was most appropriately invoked in the sports of 
the gymnasium and palestra. Here the youth were 
trained to endurance of fatigue, and acquired that 
strength of body and contempt of danger which made 
them the terror of their enemies. As at once a relaxa- 
tion from the severer exercises, and a means of renova- 
ting their vigor, they had frequent recourse to bathing. 
At Home, the combatants, in racing and wrestling, pitch- 
ing the quoit and throwing the javelin, while yet warm 
and panting would plunge into the Tiber. To this the 
poet of the Seasons alludes, when he says — 

-Hence the limbs 



Knit into force ; and the same Roman arm 
That rose victorious over the conquer'd earth 
First tearn'd, while tender, to subdue the wave." 

Hygeia is ever the companion of true liberty, not less 
than of orderly habits and pure morals. The periods of 
the greatest degradation of the human species from mis- 



1 70 HEALTH. 

rule and vice, have been also those of the most destruc- 
tive pestilence ; and hence it has been truly said, that 
general health is inconsistent with extreme servitude. 
The fourteenth century, in which the night of ignorance 
and barbarism was darkest in Europe, was also the age 
of the most numerous and almost universal plagues. 
With freedom and equal rights, are associated diligence 
and success in the culture of the soil, and consequently 
greater purity of the air; dwellings are raised with a 
view not merely to temporary convenience, but perma- 
nent comfort ; food is abundant and nutritious, and the 
freeman is not afraid of tempting the cupidity of tyran- 
nical superiors by a display of attire, either called for by 
his wants or dictated by his taste. 

Greece, with the loss of her liberty and the ruin of 
her cities, has an altered climate ; and the country sur- 
rounding Rome, which could in ancient times boast of 
its hundred cities, is now a waste, tenanted by a scattered 
peasantry, who wear on their countenances the hue of 
disease and the imprint of slavery. Contrasted with this 
picture is the reverse change brought about by the free 
and frugal Hollanders, who converted dreary swamps 
into green fertile fields, and built numerous and flourish- 
ing cities on spots where the foot of man could not once 
have trodden with safety. 

In every code of laws framed with an eye to the gene- 
ral good, there have been incorporated in it precepts for 
the preservation of health, and prevention of disease. 
Climate has been productive of the most remarkable dif- 
ferences in this branch of legislation. Without bearing 
this in mind, we should consider as absurd many of the 
injunctions of Moses and Mahomet, which were rendered 
of imperative necessity by the peculiar situation of the 



HEALTH. 171 

inhabitants of warm latitudes. In legislation like our 
own, which fluctuates with the wants and wishes of the 
people, it is very evident that a knowledge of rational 
precepts for the preservation of health, or, as they are 
technically called, the laws of Hygiene, must be of para- 
mount value to guide to the enactment of good laws. 
This is a question of high interest to every citizen, 
whether he regard his individual welfare or the flourish- 
ing condition of the body politic. 

Hygiene is the art of preserving health, that is, of ob- 
taining the most perfect action of body and mind, dur- 
ing as long a period as is consistent with the laws of life. 
In other words, it aims at rendering growth more per- 
fect, decay less rapid, life more vigorous, death more re- 
mote. The effects of diet and of exercise are considered 
the basis of Hygiene. There should be an exact balance 
between food and exercise, or disease will result from 
excess either way. 



Nature and Art. — Nature is intrepid, hardy, and 
adventurous ; but it is the practice to spoil her with in- 
dulgences from the moment Ave come into the world. A 
soft dress and soft cradle begin our education in luxu- 
ries, and we do not grow more manly the more we are 
gratified ; on the contrary, our feet must be wrapped in 
avooI and silk ; Ave must tread upon carpets ; breathe, as 
it were, in fire ; avoid a storm which purifies the air as 
we would a blast that contaminates it, and guarding 
every crevice from the Avholesomc breeze, Avhen it is the 
most, elastic and bracing; lie doAvn upon a bed of 
feathers, which relaxes the system more than a night's 
Lodging upon Hint stones. 



172 



THE HUMAN HAND. 




THE HUMAN HAND. 



The human hand stands alone in its ingenious con- 
struction and usefulness. How varied are the uses to 
which it is adapted and applied ! Glowing thoughts 
are penned by it upon the author's pages ; it causes the 
artist's canvas to assume the delicate tints or brilliant 
hues, which Nature in her varied moods is wont so 
lavishly to wreathe about her form; its beauty stands 
alone in its superlative excellence, in the whole animal 
world. In no other species of animal is the hand so 
wonderfully formed and so perfectly developed as in 
man. By means of its vibrations, the musical instrument 
is made almost a thing of life. It plays, it works, it 
acts, it talks; except the tongue, it is the orator's chief 
aid in giving expression to his lofty strains of eloquence, 
or his pathetic and powerful appeals; it gives great 
pathos to the pleader's prayer, and tells with tenfold 
force the tale of love and sorrow, suffering and woe. In 
the sense of touch seated in the hand, man claims the 
superiority. We do not realize how many notes in the 
tune of life, the hand is made to play. Its beauties and 
its uses are almost beyond our thought, and he who is 
deprived of it sustains a loss that none can estimate. 



THE HUMAN HAXD. 173 

The farmer's toil, the housewife's task, the mechanic's 
skill, are all wrought out by the human hand. Spring- 
ing in a compactly moulded body from the wrist, and 
provided with fingers possessing expanded tactile ex- 
tremities, composed of an exquisitely sensitive and 
discriminative integument, it is endowed with all the 
essential attributes of strength and mobility, and ex- 
alted powers of perception of delicate and varied opera- 
tions, that the ordinary purposes of life, and the indus- 
trial and constructive skill of an intellectual being can 
require. To preserve the delicacy and beauty of the 
hands, some little care, and more than that which is 
ordinarily bestowed on them, is required. Foremost in 
consideration must be the subject of cleanliness. Dirty 
and coarse hands are no less marks of slothfulness and 
low breeding, than clean and delicate hands are of 
refinement and gentility. To promote the softness and 
whiteness of the skin, mild emollient soaps, or those 
abounding in oil or fat, should alone be adopted. Rain- 
water or soft water is the best natural water for washing 
the hands. Roughness of the hands, induced by ex- 
posure to cold and drying winds, may, in general, be 
removed by the use of a little powdered pumice-stone 
with the soap in washing them, and a few drops of 
almond-oil or glycerine, well rubbed in at night, will 
usually effect the object completely. The finger-nails 
require special attention if we desire to preserve them 
in their highest condition of beauty and usefulness. To 
keep them clean the nail brush and soap and water 
should be used once, or oftener, daily. To remove stains 
and discolorations of the nails, a little lemon-juice, or 
vinegar and water, is the best application. Should this 
fail, a few grains of oxalic acid, diluted with warm 



174 THE HUMAN HAND. 

water, may be applied. Chapped hands are common 
among persons with a languid circulation, who are con- 
tinually "dabbling" in water during cold weather, and 
particularly among those with a scrofulous taint. The 
best preventives, as well as remedies, are the use of 
warm gloves out doors, and the application, night and 
morning, of a little glycerine, diluted with twice its 
weight of water, or a little cold cream. Gloves are the 
obbligato complement of every costume. Excessive 
moistness or perspiration of the hands, without obvious 
cause, is generally indicative of debility or disordered 
stomach, and requires corresponding treatment. 



Beauty of Health. — Females should be early taught 
the important fact that beauty cannot, in reality, exist, 
independent of health; and that the one is absolutely 
unattainable by any practice inconsistent with the other. 
In vain do they hope to improve their skin — to give a 
" roseate hue" to their cheeks, or to augment the grace 
and symmetry of their forms, unless they are cautious to 
preserve the whole frame in health, vigor, and activity. 
Beauty of complexion, and, to«a certain extent, that of 
shape also, is nothing more than visible health — a pure 
mirror of the perfect performance of the internal func- 
tions, and of their harmony with the external portions 
of the system ; the certain effect of pure air, cheerful- 
ness, temperance, and of exercise, uninterrupted by any 
species of unnatural constraint. 



All women are good, viz., either good for something, 
or good for nothing. 



THE HUMAN FOOT. 



175 




THE HUMAN FOOT. 



The human foot is also a wonderful piece of organic 
mechanism, composed of many bones, ligaments, muscles, 
and tendons, associated with arteries, veins, nerves, and 
other vessels. We look with admiration and pride, upon 
what is being done by man in every direction ; we see his 
skill displayed in various arts, and his reason and intel- 
lect in the wonderful works of his hands. We boast of 
our ships, our steamboats, and our telegraphs ; we are 
proud, and justly proud, of our bridges, and our Atlantic 
cable ; but where in the whole range of arts, mechanics, 
architecture, or engineering, can we find such a structure 
as the human foot 1 How manifold are the functions it 
is fitted to perform \ Not only does it sustain weights, 
but it must carry them. Man in his labors and his toils 
is obliged to walk, run, leap, jump, climb, etc., and upon 
the foot must he depend for the performance of these 
Beveral duties. And in order to secure in the foot the 
requisite figpiness in standing, it is articulated with the 
leg at right angles, so that the heel and toes touch the 
ground, and the joint is placed nearer the posterior than 
the anterior part of the foot, so as to increase the base 



176 THE HUMAN FOOT. 

of support in that direction towards which the body 
tends most to fall ; it offers not only the advantage of a 
strong support, but one which is highly elastic, yielding 
without injury in alighting on the feet, and acting as a 
spring in progression. To preserve the feet in a 
thoroughly healthy and comfortable state, the first object 
of attention should be cleanliness — thorough cleanliness. 
For this purpose they should be frequently soaked and 
well washed in warm or tepid water, good soap being 
freely used to remove the dirt and perspiration which 
accumulate about them. This should be done, if possi- 
ble, every day in summer, every other day in spring and 
autumn, and twice a week in winter. The appropriate 
time for the operation is at night, before retiring to rest. 
Nails that have a tendency to spread sidewise and to 
grow into the flesh — a thing that always originates in 
pressure — should be kept carefully pared at the sides or 
offending part. Very great care should be taken to 
avoid cutting the toe-nails too short. The best treat- 
ment of tender feet is soaking them nightly in tepid 
water, to which a handful of bran may be added to the 
water. When the tenderness is extreme and persistent, 
a little powdered borax or sal-ammoniac should be 
added to the water. Coldness of the feet indicates deli- 
cate health and a feeble state of the circulation. It 
should be met by active exercise and friction, the use of 
warm woollen stockings, and efforts to improve the gene- 
ral tone of the system. The peculiar and very disagree- 
able odor evolved by the feet of some persons in hot 
weather generally arises from unnatural perspiration, 
insufficient attention to cleanliness, and from wearing 
cotton stockings and non-ventilating boots or shoes. 
The remedy is obvious. The feet should be soaked and 



THE HUMAN FOOT. 177 

washed nightly in warm water, soap being at the same 
time freely used. Sore feet, produced by walking, or in 
any other similar .manner, may be treated as noticed 
above under "tender feet." The feet, owing to the less 
vigorous circulation of the blood in them, are very liable 
to chilblains; the most common cause of them is hold- 
ing the feet to the fire after they have been exposed to 
cold. Any sudden change of temperature, under such 
circumstances, especially from cold to heat, should be 
carefully avoided. The best treatment is with local 
stimulants and counter-irritants. Among these may be 
mentioned, painting the parts twice a day with strong 
tincture of iodine, or friction with oil of turpentine, 
opodeldoc, camphorated oil, hartshorne and oil, glyceric 
nated lotion of sal-ammoniac. All these are proper 
applications only while the skin continues sound. 
When the inflamed parts ulcerate and break, the usual 
treatment is to dress them with a little resin cerate, or 
spermaceti ointment and powdered galls. 



The habitual drinker of ardent spirits is liable to 
changes in his stomach, liver, brain, heart, lungs, and 
the functions of each respectively. And yet, deplorable 
infatuation! the misguided creature often alleges, as an 
excuse for his tippling, or daily use of ardent spirits, 
which is tippling, that he suffers in some one of these 
organs, and gets momentary relief in this way. But 
what a relief! A pleasurable moment to be repaid by 
hours and days and weeks of disease. The use of ardent 
spirits acts on the blood, impairs its vitality, diminishes 
its red color, and renders it unfit to stimulate the heart. 
12 



178 CORNS. 



CORNS. 



The daily exercise of walking being essential to the 
preservation of the health and vigor of the system, every- 
thing calculated to prevent its being indulged in to a 
sufficient extent, must necessarily be a matter of serious 
import. 

There is nothing, perhaps, which impedes the free use 
of the feet to so great an extent as the presence of corns ; 
for though a few may boast that they experience but 
little inconvenience from them, to the majority they 
occasion, by times, a degree of suffering which totally 
incapacitates them from walking or even standing. We 
propose, therefore, to call the attention of our readers to 
the means of preventing, or when present, of remedying 
this evil. 

The feet being cramped in small or badly-shaped shoes, 
produces corns in a great many cases. They may be, 
also, occasioned by walking much in shoes of too 
large dimensions, and formed from materials of a hard 
and unyielding nature. The feet being subjected, in 
the one case, to long-continued pressure, and, in the 
other, to repeated friction, the skin, particularly at those 
points where it is in almost immediate contact with the 
bone, becomes hard and thickened. If the pressure or 
friction be continued, both the density and thickness of 
the skin increase, and a corn is formed, which being 
forced down by the shoe, becomes imbedded into the parts 
upon which it is seated, and by its pressure upon the 
delicate skin beneath causes this to become inflamed and 
exquisitely sensible. 



CORNS. 179 

Corns are not always confined to the feet ; various 
other parts of the body may be affected with them, if 
subjected to constant pressure or friction. Thus, they 
are very commonly produced on the more projecting 
portions of the hands of ploughmen, gardeners, reapers, 
blacksmiths, and various other mechanics, from the press- 
ure and friction to which these parts are subjected in 
handling their respective tools. 

From the preceding remarks, the means of preventing 
the formation of corns will suggest itself to every one. 
It is to remove from the feet all unnecessary pressure, 
and to carefully guard them from repeated- friction. To 
this end, the first thing to be attended to is the shoe. 
This should be made sufficiently large and of a shape 
exactly correspondent to that of the foot. No one can 
promise himself an exemption from corns unless the 
shoe be of sufficient dimensions to permit of all the 
motions of the feet and toes being performed without 
restraint. It is important, also, that it be formed of a 
suitable material, and rise as high in the instep as it can 
be worn, in order that -all pressure or friction may be 
taken off the toes. Shoes made of soft calfskin, or of 
buckskin, are the best. Previously to being worn, to 
render them flexible and more capable of adapting them- 
selves to the form of the foot, the upper leather should 
be well oiled, until perfectly soft and flexible ; afterwards 
the oil may be discontinued if thought proper. Great 
care is taken in the army " to see that the men are pro- 
vided with proper shoes, with good thick soles, roomy 
about the toes, and that in every other respect they fit 
well ; and it is astonishing to find among so large a body 
of men so few afflicted with corns. There is, however, 
another thing in favor of the soldier against corns, 



180 CORNS. 

namely, he is taught to walk ; and if any perceptible 
awkwardness or partial deformity of the foot originally 
exist, this is corrected by the drill sergeant, who teaches 
him to plant his feet fairly and uniformly on the ground, 
and to turn his toes in such a direction that each part 
of the foot may sustain a proportionate weight, and all 
its articulations have their full and unshackled play." 

An all-important means, therefore, of preventing a 
disposition to corns, is to correct any awkwardness in 
the gait ; in other words, for the individual to learn how 
to manage his feet in walking so as to subject them, on 
their upper surface, to the least possible pressure or 
friction. The time and patience necessary for this will 
be amply repaid by the advantages of a fine, easy, and 
graceful gait. 

It is certainly true that some individuals are more 
liable to be affected with corns than others. A few who 
always wear tight shoes, and take but little care of their 
feet or manner of walking, are never incommoded with 
them ; others, on the contrary, can scarcely put on a pair 
of new shoes, or walk more than usual, without having 
them produced. It is a curious circumstance, also, that 
persons have been tormented with corns for years, and 
then become, all at once, entirely rid of them, though 
they continue to wear the same kind of shoes and walk 
to the same extent as formerly. 

Another important measure for the prevention of corns 
is frequently bathing the feet. Clean feet, clean stock- 
ings, and a pair of easy shoes, are the most effectual 
preventatives of injury to the feet, and as great a luxury 
as it is possible, where personal comfort is duly appreci- 
ated, for any one to enjoy. A warm bath, with the free 
use of good soap, is that best adapted to the feet. The 



CORNS. 181 

most proper time for the use of the foot-bath is in the 
evening on retiring to bed. The instant the feet are 
removed from the bath, they should be promptly dried 
with a coarse towel, and well rubbed ; and unless the 
individual goes immediately to bed, a pair of soft woollen 
stockings should be drawn on. By these precautions all 
possible danger of taking cold will be avoided. They 
who have habitually moist or perspirable feet should 
bathe them at least three times a week in summer, and 
twice in winter ; but when the feet are habitually dry, 
the use of the bath twice a week in summer, and once in 
winter, will be sufficient. 



T7w Time and Mode of Sleeping. 

Six hours of sleep suffice for sire and son ; 
Seven hours we grant to sloth, and eight to none; 
In less than seven be all thy sleeping done. 
If nine are needed, take not thou a tenth ; 
Conform thy sleep to night's appointed length. 
Should health demand, from morning take a third 
Better that one from bed all day ne'er stirred, 
Than rob his limbs of their accustomed rest ; 
And for such sleep the morning hour is best. 
Sleep in due measure profits every one, 
But through excess much ill is often done. 
Nothing is worse than on the back to lie; 
While prono relieves a couch, yet hurts the eye. 
'Tis well to change from side to side at night, 
And, naught forbidding, choose at first the right. 
l"}K>n this side begin thy night's repose, 
And on the left let sleep her season close. 



182 SALT AND OTHER MINERAL CONSTITUENTS OF FOOD. 

ON SALT, 

AND OTHER MINERAL CONSTITUENTS OF FOOD. 

The following extract from a highly interesting and 
instructive lecture on this subject, will serve to show the 
absolute necessity of keeping the system fully supplied 
with a due proportion of its mineral elements as well as 
its organic constituents, in order to thus insure the nor- 
mal nutrition and development of all the various tissues 
of the body, and preserve as well as restore, when lost, 
the healthy integrity of the several parts and of the 
whole economy. 

" I wish to bring before you what I have called the 
Mineral Constituents of our Food, to which, generally 
speaking, we attach very little importance. Persons who 
prepare our food — cooks in the kitchen, ladies who 
superintend cooks and order dinners for large families — 
and people who consume food from day to day, never 
think of asking whether food contains mineral constitu- 
ents in the right proportions to secure health, and with- 
out which babies get rickets, young ladies get curved 
spines, fathers get gouty, and mothers get palpitations ; 
and they do not think of ascribing these to the food 
which has deprived them of the proper mineral constit- 
uents. I think I can show you that the importance of 
this consideration can hardly be overrated. 

" In order to illustrate the importance of these things, 
I must show you the elementary constitution of human 
beings. Suppose we take a human being, put him in a 
retort, and apply heat to him ; we shall find that, first, 
111 pounds of water will actually rise up from a body 
weighing 154 pounds; and the next thing that comes 



SALT AND OTHER MINERAL CONSTITUENTS OF FOOD. 183 

off will be carbonic acid gas; there will be ammonia; 
and then you might get a little sulphuretted hydrogen 
and phosphuretted hydrogen, and gases of that sort ; but 
you will at last get a quantity of ashes. Now, in the 
water you get the oxygen and the hydrogen. In the 
carbonic acid gas you get carbon and oxygen, and in 
the ammonia you get nitrogen and hydrogen. In the 
ashes which are left we get phosphate of lime, carbonate 
of lime, fluoride of calcium, chloride of sodium, sulphate 
of soda, carbonate of soda, phosphate of potash, sulphate 
of potash, peroxide of iron, phosphate of iron, phosphate 
of magnesia, and silica. These are the things without 
which Ave cannot live. And if you will persist in having 
only refined sugar and the whitest flour, rejecting the 
brown; if you will persist in rejecting the salt and 
avoiding the liquor in which meat is boiled, you may 
get albumen and fibrin, but none of these mineral sub- 
stances; and then the first attack of fever or cold may 
prove fatal. Four men shall be travelling outside of an 
omnibus — one may get acute inflammation of the lungs, 
another bronchitis, and the other two shall come off free. 
Was it the riding outside of the omnibus that did if? 
No ; it was the state of their blood. They had lived 
somehow irregularly. So you may find half a dozen 
children all exposed to the contagion of scarlet fever ; 
two take it, one dies, and the other four are free ; but 
the two that have caught it have lived in such a way that 
their blood has readily taken in the contagious disease: 
and the one that has died has got in such a condition as 
t<< produce death. Hence the importance of attending 
to these subjects thoroughly — not getting a little knowl- 
edge <>f them, but a knowledge of what is necessary to 
the feeding of men. If not, we shall somehow or other 
suffer." 



184 ATTENTION TO HEALTH NO BAR TO ENJOYMENT. 



ATTENTION TO HEALTH NO BAR TO 
ENJOYMENT. 

Almost every attempt that has been made to instruct 
the public generally, upon the means by which disease 
may be avoided, and the health and well-being of both 
mind and body best preserved, has been met by ridicule. 
The individual who would live according to the dictates 
of prudence and good sense, has been described as one 
fearful of enjoying the common gifts and blessings of 
Providence, of partaking of the most simple food, or of 
breathing the purest atmosphere, lest he may admit into 
his system some noxious power to rob him of his health. 
" Such a one," says the scoffer, " is little better than a 
constant valetudinarian — with him, plain old common 
sense is turned out of doors, to make room for prudery 
in regimen ; and every generous energy is crippled by 
coward caution." 

These vulgar and absurd objections to a rigid obser- 
vance of the rules of health, are thus refuted by a very 
excellent writer engaged in the same cause with our- 
selves. 

" If," says he, " no evil has followed from the pains 
that have been so wisely taken towards putting all upon 
their guard against deadly nightshade and against sugar 
of lead, why should any be produced by a completely 
reasoned catalogue of poisons, in the most comprehensive 
sense of that term % The lead does but occasion palsy ; 
and whatever destroys activity and enjoyment produces 
palsy too, of the worst species. For the advantages of 
sprightly vigor over pining sickliness, is greater than 



ATTENTION TO HEALTH NO BAR TO ENJOYMENT. 185 

that of the enervated over the palsied, or of the palsied 
over the dead. Can we seriously fear, that if we suffer 
ourselves to be persuaded out of the use of poisons, both 
quick and slow, that the feast of nature would not be 
various enough for a healthy appetite \ Did any one, 
when once acquainted with their effects, ever pine for 
the berries of the nightshade, or the sweets of lead"? or, 
has a knowledge of their poisonous qualities caused any 
one to partake with diminished confidence of such spe- 
cies of food, of the wholesomeness of which he has been 
well assured \ Certainly not. Neither, therefore, will 
a single individual find the comforts of life diminished — 
nor hesitate a moment to make a proper use of them, 
when once he is convinced of the deleterious influence 
of intemperance and gluttony, of indolence and lust ; or, 
rather, when he has been taught in what each of these 
vices actually consists." 



Heavy Suppers. — Supper should be taken about dark, 
and when the nights are short, about sundown. This 
will allow sufficient time for the food to digest before 
retiring. The stomach should have rest at night, as 
well as the other organs of the body. Heavy suppers 
distend the stomach, impede the respiration, oppress the 
brain, cause disturbed sleep, horrid dreams, nightmare, 
and, in many cases, sudden death. If you would enjoy 
quiet, refreshing sleep, and avoid disease and sudden 
death, shun heavy suppers. This meal should consist 
mostly of toasted bread, wafers, biscuit, a small quantity 
of fresh butter, with milk or water for drink. 



186 HEALTH AND VIGOR OF THE BODY. 



THE BEST MEANS OF PRESERVING THE 
HEALTH AND VIGOR OF THE BODY. 

With the name and character of the philanthropic 
Howard, all our readers must be intimately acquainted. 
The following extracts are from a communication made 
by him to exhibit the result of his experience as to the 
best means of preserving the health and vigor of the 
body. 

" A more ' puny whipster' than myself, in the days of 
my youth, was never seen. I could not walk out in the 
evening without being wrapped up : I could not put on 
my linen without its being aired : I was, politely speak- 
ing, enfeebled enough to have delicate nerves, and was, 
occasionally, troubled with a very genteel hectic. To 
be serious, I am convinced that whatever enfeebles the 
body debilitates the mind, and renders both unfit for 
those exertions which are of such use to us all as social 
beings. I therefore entered upon a reform of my con- 
stitution, and have succeeded in such a degree, that I 
have neither had a cough, cold, the vapors, nor any 
more alarming disorder since I surmounted the season- 
ing. Prior to this I used to be a miserable dependant 
on wind and weather ; a little too much of the one, or a 
slight inclemency of the other, would postpone, and 
frequently prevent, not only my amusements, but my 
duties : or, if pressed by my affections, or by the neces- 
sity of affairs, I did venture forth in despite of the 
elements, the consequences were equally absurd and 
incommodious, not seldom afflictive. I muffled up even 
to my nostrils ; a crack in the glass of my chaise was 



HEALTH AND VIGOR OF THE BODY. 187 

sufficient to distress me; a sudden slope of the wheels to 
the right or left, set me a trembling ; a jolt seemed like 
a dislocation, and the sight of a bank or a precipice, 
near which my horse or carriage was to pass, would 
disorder me so much, that I would order the driver to 
stop, that I might get out and walk by the difficult 
place. Mulled wines, spirituous cordials, and large 
fires were to comfort me, and to keep out the cold, as 
it is called, at every stage, and if I felt the least damp 
in my feet, or other parts of my body, dry stockings, 
linen, etc., were to be instantly put on: the perils of the 
day were to be baffled by something taken hot on going 
to bed ; and before I pursued my journey the next 
morning a dram was to be swallowed, in order to fortify 
the stomach. In a word, I lived, moved, and had my 
being so much by rule, that the slightest deviation was 
a disease. 

" Every man must, in these cases, be his own physi- 
cian. He must prescribe for, and practise on himself. 
I did this by a very simple, but, as you will think, a very 
severe regimen, namely, by denying myself almost every 
thing in which I had long indulged. But as it is always 
harder to get rid of a bad habit than to contract it, I 
entered on my reform gradually ; that is to say, I began 
to diminish my usual indulgences by degrees. I found 
that a heavy meal, or a hearty one, as it is termed, and 
a cheerful glass, that is, one more than does you good, 
made me incapable, or at least disinclined, to any useful 
exertions for some time after dinner hours : and if the 
dilutive powers of tea assisted the work of a disturbed 
digestion, so far as to restore my faculties, a luxurious 
supper came in so close upon it that I was fit for 
nothing but dissipation, till I went to a luxurious bed, 



188 HEALTH AND VIGOR OF THE BODY. 

where I finished the enervating practices by sleeping 
eight, ten, and sometimes a dozen hours on the stretch. 
You will not wonder that I rose the next morning with 
the solids relaxed, the juices thickened, and the consti- 
tution weakened. 

" To remedy all this, I ate a little less at every meal, 
and reduced my drink in proportion. It is really 
wonderful to consider how imperceptibly a single morsel 
of animal food, and a teaspoonful of liquor deducted 
from the usual quantity daily, will restore the mental 
functions, without any injury to the corporeal — nay, with 
increase of vigor to both. I brought myself, in the first 
instance, from dining on many dishes to dining on a 
few, and then to being satisfied with one ; in like manner, 
instead of drinking a variety of wines, I made my election 
of a single sort, and adhered to it alone. 

" My next business was to eat and drink sparingly of 
that adopted dish and bottle. My ease, vivacity, health, 
and spirits augmented. My clothing, etc., underwent a 
similar reform ; the effect of all which is, and has been 
for many years, that I am neither affected by seeing my 
carriage dragged up a mountain, or driven down a 
valley. If an accident happens, I am prepared for it, I 
mean so far as respects unnecessary terrors ; and I am 
proof against all changes in the atmosphere, wet clothes, 
damp feet, night air, transitions from heat to cold, and 
the long train of hypochondriac affections." 

In his 63d year, Mr. Howard was in full possession 
of his mental and physical powers. He, however, 
accidentally contracted a malignant fever whilst visiting 
the sick in an infected district, which terminated his 
life in a few days. 



TIME FOR SLEEP. 189 



TIME FOR SLEEP. 



Sleep, " tired nature's sweet restorer," is well known 
to be essential to the existence of man. Those who are 
long deprived of a necessary proportion of it have their 
health impaired, and not unfrequently the period of their 
existence abridged. Many would appear to imagine that 
provided a certain number of the twenty-four hours be 
passed in sleep, it matters little how or where such repose 
is obtained. This, however, is a very gross error. The 
accommodations of the night, equally with the occupa- 
tions of the day, exert a very powerful influence upon 
the health and well-being of the system. 

Night is evidently the period appropriated by nature 
for repose, and general experience has proved that it is 
the only one during which we can with certainty obtain 
that sound, sweet, and refreshing slumber so necessary 
for the preservation of health. Sleeping during the day 
is, indeed, on many accounts a pernicious practice, which 
should be carefully avoided, excepting under particular 
circumstances of disease, or when a sufficient amount of 
repose cannot be obtained at the natural periods. This, 
however, does not apply to infants. For the first months 
after birth, a healthy child sleeps full two-thirds of its 
time. This propensity requires to be indulged by day 
as well as by night ; but, with judicious management, it 
may be brought, in a short time, to require and enjoy 
repose during the latter period only. Young children, 
when fatigued by exercise, will also, in general, be found 
inclined to sleep during the day ; from indulging them 
in a short repose, under such circumstances, no bad 



190 TIME FOR SLEEP. 

effects can result, provided their clothing be perfectly 
loose, so that every part of their bodies is freed from 
bands or ligatures. 

The popular maxim, " early to bed and early to rise," is 
one which should be rigidly observed by every individual. 
It has been remarked that, in the natural state, the dis- 
position to sleep usually comes on soon after the com- 
mencement of darkness ; and, according to the oldest and 
most accurate observers, three or four hours' sleep before 
midnight is very nearly as refreshing as double that portion 
in the morning. Persons who spend the day in manual 
labor, or active exercise in the open air, with great dif- 
ficulty keep awake for a few hours after the night has 
closed in ; and this disposition to early sleep is, perhaps, 
one of the strongest indications of perfect health. 

The studious are noted for their disregard of " the 
regular hours of rest." The solemn stillness of night, 
inviting to those pursuits which require a fixed attention, 
and a connected series of thought and reasoning, leads 
them first into the habit ; which is subsequently 
strengthened by the circumstance of intense application 
of the mind, uninterrupted by sufficient and appropriate 
exercise, producing a state of nervous irritability inimical 
to sleep. Hence the student fears to leave his midnight 
lamp for a couch which he can only occupy in a state of 
restlessness. Let him, however, relinquish his nocturnal 
studies, and seek, during the natural period, that repose 
which his mind and body alike demand, appropriating 
" the hours of early morn" to study, and the residue of 
the forenoon to exercise, and we are well persuaded that, 
while his progress in the pursuit of knowledge would be 
in no degree retarded, he will be the gainer, not merely 
in the enjoyment of more perfect health, but in the 



TIME FOR SLEEP. 191 

increased clearness and vigor of his intellectual faculties. 
It has been very correctly remarked " that the atmos- 
phere of the night is always more vitiated, and conse- 
quently less fit for respiration than that of the day ; and 
as we respire a greater portion of air while awake than 
in a sleeping state, it follows that from these, independ- 
ent of other causes, the system is more liable to injury 
in the former than in the latter state." 

Early rising is equally important to the health of the 
system as early rest. On no account should any one per- 
mit himself to again slumber, after the moment of his 
first awaking in the morning, whether this happen at the 
early dawn, or before the sun has risen ; even though 
from accident or unavoidable causes he may not have 
enjoyed his six or eight hours of repose. It is much 
better to make up the deficiency, if necessary, at some 
other time, than to attempt taking another nap. Who- 
ever shall accustom himself thus to rise, will enjoy more 
undisturbed sleep during the night, and awake far more 
refreshed, than those who indolently slumber all the 
morning. 

Even this second nap is, however, by no means so in- 
jurious to health as the practice of continuing in bed of 
a morning, long after waking ; nothing tends, especially 
in children, and young persons generally, more effectually 
to unbrace the solids, exhaust the spirits, and thus to 
undermine the vigor, activity, and health of the system, 
than such a practice. 

Let any one, who has been accustomed to lie in bed 
till eightornine o'clock, rise by five or six, spend an hour 
or two in walking, riding, or any active diversion in the 
open air, and he will find his spirits more cheerful and 
serene throughout the day, his appetite more keen, and 
his body more active and vigorous. 



192 TIME FOR SLEEP. 

Eeese, in his life of Dr. Kippis, attributes the uninter- 
rupted health of the latter to the habits of early rising, 
as well as to the uniform regularity and temperance to 
which he had been accustomed from his youth. It may 
be added, that, however different in other respects may 
have been the habits of those who have been remarkable 
for their longevity, they were all early risers. 

The habit of early rising is one of great importance 
in reference to the health of young persons : when com- 
menced in the first years of life, it will be persevered in 
from choice. " Hence," to use the language of an ex- 
perienced writer, " while under the eye of parents and 
guardians, children may be taught to rise constantly at 
a certain hour, which will render it more easy for them 
to persevere in the habit after they are removed from 
under that control. If no disease or accident intervene, 
they will need no further repose than that obtained in 
their first sleep, which custom will have caused to ter- 
minate, of itself, just at the usual hour, and then, if they 
turn upon the other ear to take a second nap, they will 
be taught to look upon it as an intemperance, not at all 
redounding to their credit." 

No one should retire to rest immediately after a full 
meal, or in an agitated state of mind. Indeed, after a 
light supper, at least two hours ought to elapse before 
bedtime ; and as a requisite for sound and invigorating 
repose, it is necessary to banish all anxious, gloomy, or 
depressing ideas and thoughts, and every species of 
mental exertion. To the same intent, every circumstance 
calculated to excite the senses should be removed. The 
pernicious practice, adopted by many, of reading in bed 
until they fall asleep, is particularly to be avoided. In 
place of this dangerous expedient to invite sleep, it would 



TIME FOR SLEEP. 193 

be more salutary to walk up and down the room for a 
few minutes, or to partake of any other gentle exercise. 
Fortunately, however, the individual who lives a life 
of temperance and virtue, and partakes daily of sufficient 
active exercise, requires no opiate to lull him to repose : 

" On him the balmy dews 



Of sleep with double nutriment descend." 



Reasons for Early Rising. — Independent of the injury 
which the eyes sustain from studying Or laboring by 
candlelight, those who spend the night in occupation 
of any kind, and waste the morning in sleep, lose the 
most beautiful period of the day, and the one best adapted 
for either mental or bodily labor. We may consider 
each day as a sketch in miniature of human life, in 
which the morning represents youth ; noon, manhood ; 
and evening, old age. Who would not then employ the 
youthful part of each day in labor, rather than begin 
his work in the evening — the period of old age and de- 
bility \ In the morning we are renovated in the properest 
sense of the word : the mind, also, is at that period the 
clearest, and possessed of the most strength and energy. 
It is not, as at night, worn out and rendered unequal 
by the multifarious impressions of the day, by business 
and fatigue; it is then more original, and possesses its 
natural powers. This is the period of new mental crea- 
tion, of clear conceptions, and exalted ideas. Never does 
man enjoy the sensation of his own existence so purely 
and in so great perfection as in a beautiful morning. 
Hi' who neglects this period, neglects the youth of his 

lite! 

13 



194 PULMONARY CONSUMPTION. 



PULMONARY CONSUMPTION. 

Vigorous exercise, and a free exposure to the air, are 
by far the most efficient remedies in pulmonary con- 
sumption. It is not, however, that kind of exercise 
usually prescribed for invalids — an occasional walk or 
ride in pleasant weather, with strict confinement in the 
intervals — from which much good is to be expected. 
Daily and long-continued riding on horseback, or in 
carriages over rough roads, is, perhaps, the best mode of 
exercise ; but where this cannot be commanded, unre- 
mitting exertion of almost any kind in the open air, 
amounting even to labor, will be found highly beneficial. 
Nor should the weather be scrupulously studied. Though 
I would not advise a consumptive patient to expose him- 
self recklessly to the severest inclemencies of the weather, 
I would nevertheless warn him against allowing the 
dread of taking cold to confine him on every occasion 
when the temperature may be low, or skies overcast. 

" I may be told that the patient is often too feeble to 
be able to bear exertion ; but, except in the last stage, 
where every remedy must prove unavailing, I believe 
there are few who cannot use exercise without doors ; 
and it sometimes happens, that they who are exceedingly 
debilitated, find, upon making the trial, that their strength 
is increased by the effort, and that the more they exert 
themselves, the better able they are to support the 
exertion." 



Eat a bit before you drink. 



STIMULANTS. 195 



STIMULANTS. 

That man is a maniac, a deliberate suicide, who drinks 
tea, coffee, or ardent spirits of any kind, to induce him 
to perform a work in hand, and when he feels too weak 
to go through with it without such aid. This is the 
reason that the majority of great orators and public 
favorites die drunkards. The pulpit, the bench, the 
bar, the forum, have contributed their legions of victims 
to drunken habits. The beautiful woman, the sweet 
singer, the conversationalist, the periodical writers, have 
filled but too often a drunkard's grave. Now that the 
press has become such a great power in the land, when 
the magazine must come out on a certain day and the 
daily newspapers at a fixed hour, nothing waits, every- 
thing must give way to the inexorable call for copy, and, 
sick or well, disposed or indisposed, asleep or awake, 
that copy must come ; the writer must compose his article, 
whether he feels like it or not, and if he is not in the 
vein for writing, he must whip himself up to it by the 
stimulus of drink. Some of the greatest writers of the 
century have confessed to the practice, on urgent occa- 
sions, of taking a sip of brandy at the end of every 
written page, or even oftener — Lord Byron at the end 
of every paragraph sometimes ! 

It may have escaped the general reader's notice that 
more men have died young, who have been connected 
with the New York Press, within ten years, and that too 
from intemperance, than in all the other educational 
callings put together; young men whose talents have 
been of the very first order, and gave promise of a life 



1 96 STIMULANTS. 

of usefulness, honor, and eminence. The best possible 
thing for a man to do when he feels too tired to perform 
a task, or too weak to carry it through, is to go to bed 
and sleep a week, if he can ; this is the only true recupe- 
ration of brain power ; the only actual renewal of brain 
force ; because during sleep the brain is in a sense at 
rest, in a condition to receive and appropriate particles 
of nutriment from the blood which take the place of 
those which have been consumed in previous labor, since 
the very act of thinking consumes, burns up solid parti- 
cles, as every turn of the wheel or screw of the splendid 
steamer is the result of the consumption by fire of the 
fuel in the furnace. That supply of consumed brain 
substance can only be had from the nutrient particles in 
the blood which were obtained from the food eaten pre- 
viously, and the brain is so constituted, that it can best 
receive and appropriate to itself those nutrient particles 
during the state of rest, quiet, and stillness of sleep. 
Mere stimulants supply nothing in themselves — they only 
goad the brain, force it to a greater consumption of its 
substance, until that substance has been so fully ex- 
hausted, that there is not power enough left to receive 
a supply; just as men are sometimes so near death by 
thirst or starvation that there is not strength enough left 
to swallow anything, and all is over. This incapacity 
of the brain for receiving recuperative particles sometimes 
comes on with the rapidity of a stroke of lightning, and 
the man becomes mad in an instant; in an instant falls 
in convulsions, in an instant loses all sense, and he is an 
idiot. It was under circumstances of this very sort, in 
the very middle of a sentence of great oratorical power, 
one of the most eminent minds of the age forgot his idea, 
pressed his hand against his forehead, and after a mo- 



STIMULANTS. 197 

ment's silence said, " God, as with a sponge, lias blotted 
out my mind." Be assured, reader, " there is rest for 
the weary" only in early and abundant sleep, and wise 
and happy are they who have firmness enough to resolve 
that " by God's help I will seek it in no other way." 

But let it be understood that under all circumstances 
of extraordinary exhaustion from over effort of mind 
or body, stimulants of tea, coffee, or spirits are impera- 
tively demanded at the earliest moment afterwards, to 
prevent the system from going down to that point of 
weariness when the body loses the power of rest, and 
the mind the power to sleep, for many have found them- 
selves at times too tired to sleep. But then stimulants 
are taken, not to enable the person to attempt more 
work, but to enable him to take rest and sleep, by pre- 
venting the system from getting so low as to banish both. 

TEA, COFFEE, AND LIQUORS. 

All are stimulants, and within ten minutes after taking 
them we lose the sense of fatigue which depressed us, 
and the feeling of hunger which seemed to be gnawing 
at our vitals. By using them largely we are able to 
work until the very moment that paralysis, apoplexy, or 
death shows how much the system has been outraged. 

The action of the stimulus is to force the blood to the 
various parts of the body, when it would not have gone 
there sufficiently by its natural action. This blood con- 
fain^ nutriment — hence the feeling of hunger abates; 
but, a mere stimulant having no nutriment, the time 

ci is when the blood has yielded up all it has, and the 

body dies of starvation and debility and utter exhaus- 
tion. 



198 STIMULANTS. 

Persons who are starved to death become idiotic 
towards the last, because there is not nourishment in 
the blood to feed the brain to keep up its activities. 

It was observed during the potato famine in Ireland, 
that when money, instead of food, was given to the 
starving, they uniformly spent it in tea, tobacco, or 
spirits, because they found that they removed the sense 
of debility and hunger at a cheaper rate than solid food, 
and the relief was more instantaneous ; but they failed 
to notice that it was also more transient, and thus more 
deceptive ; they gave no actual strength to the body — 
they only seemed to do it; they merely brought the very 
last reserves " to the front," but added not a man to the 
general army ; so when the last reserves were used up, 
the battle of life was over, and death was victorious. 
Hence, strength, kept up by the use of mere stimulants, 
is always at the risk of reason and life. True strength, 
real recuperation, comes from the digestion of nutritious 
food, and can come from no other source. 



Happy is he who learns caution from the danger of 
others. Be appropriate. It may with the greatest right 
be claimed by those who learn caution with regard to 
their own health, that it is from observing what brings 
infirmity upon others. 



Vice. — Vice needs every discouragement to prevent 
its seeds from growth; and it would be happy if man 
would consider that he cannot long enjoy health with a 
poisoned mind or an upbraiding conscience. 



poison. 199 



POISON. 



The instant a person is known to have swallowed 
poison by design or accident, give water to drink, cold 
or warm, as fast as possible, a gallon or more at a time, 
and as fast as vomited drink more ; tepid water is best, 
as it opens the pores of the skin and promotes vomiting, 
and thus gives the speediest cure to the poisonous arti- 
cle. If pains begin to be felt in the bowels, it shows 
that part at least of the poison has passed downwards ; 
then large and repeated injections of tepid water should 
be given, the object in both cases being to dilute the 
poison as quickly and as largely as possible. Do not 
wait for warm water — take that which is nearest at 
hand, cold or warm, for every second of time saved is of 
immense importance, at the same time send instantly 
for a physician, and as soon as he comes turn the case 
into his hands, telling him what you have done. This 
simple fact cannot be too widely published; it is not 
meant to say that drinking a gallon or two of simple 
water will cure every case of poisoning, but it will cure 
many, and benefit all by its rapidly diluting quality. 



Wetting the Hair. — The head and hair need cleansing 
equally with the rest of the body, and water is the only 
propel fluid to do it with. It does not injure the lian- 
as commonly supposed, but improves it, unless carried 
to excess. Constant brushing of the hair injures it, as 
docs also the application of bay rum or other irritants, 

oils, etc. 



200 SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 



SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 

The material " progress" of the world has brought 
the most distant nations to our doors, and put rivers, 
and mountains, and seas between friends and neighbors. 
All of us feel that there is far less social intercourse 
between families than there was a score or two of years 
ago ; the essential reason of which is, it requires so 
much more effort to keep our houses and ourselves in a 
presentable shape, that we have not time to make an old- 
fashioned visit ; that is, to go and see a neighbor before 
sundown, and stay and take tea, and then laugh and 
talk to a late hour in the night, reaching home with 
pleasant memories of the good cheer, the well-spread 
table, and the vigorous appetite for its consumption. 
All thoughtful minds should cultivate social intercourse 
as a matter of principle, and pleasure, and duty; it 
breaks up the monotony of domestic life, it promotes 
that interchange of ideas, and that reciprocity of cour- 
tesies which cherishes self-respect, which wakes up those 
ambitions and commendable rivalries which are calcu- 
lated to elevate the individual in particular, and society 
in general. 

Our farmers, especially, work too hard in the day- 
time, and are too tired, when evening comes, to dress 
and go and see a neighbor ; hence, there is a monotony 
in their existence which allows the faculties to go to 
sleep ; and to this monotony they soon become so accus- 
tomed that they become, in time, but little more than 
machines, have not the energy requisite to take them 
.out of one tread-mill course, and they go round and 



SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 201 

round the same beaten track until they die, and too 
often but little above the elevation of mind which 
belongs to the brute creation. 



MAXIMS FOR PARENTS. 

Attempt not the treatment of your own, or your 
children's colds, lest what may in reality have been, in 
the first instance, a trifling disease, should by your mis- 
management be converted into a confirmed consumption. 
All remedies which do no good, in either colds or con- 
sumptions, invariably do a very great deal of harm. A 
strictly sober life, regular, active exercise, anal a cheerful 
and contented mind, are the most certain means by 
which those predisposed to consumption may escape its 
attack, and preserve their lives to an advanced period. 
The most certain means by which the predisposed, even 
when guilty of no intemperance, may invite the attack 
of their lurking enemy, is a plentiful use of pectoral 
balsams, balms of life, lung restorers, cough-lozenges, or 
indeed any of the list of the certain cures in the news- 
papers. 



The difference between excess in eating and the 



drinking of distilled or fermented liquors is marked by 
the following among other lines of distinction. The one 
is the abuse of a good thing, and the other is the use of 
a bad thing. In the former case we take too much food, 
in the latter case we swallow more or less poison. Ali- 
ment should bo taken with moderation; alcohol, how- 
ever mixed, disguised, diluted, or compounded, should 
lint he taken at all. 



202 STAMMERING. 



STAMMERING 

Is a nervous disease. One of the most inveterate 
stammerers became possessed with the idea that he 
would make a good playactor ; the apparent absurdity 
of the thing attracted public attention, and his first 
appearance was greeted by one of the largest London 
audiences, and, to the surprise of every one, he went 
through his part without one single blunder or hesitation. 
In this is the principle of cure in every conceivable case 
given for that purpose ; and by knowing the principle 
involved, by having the key to one case, we have the 
key to all. This man's attention was so completely 
taken up, the nervous power was so strongly diverted to 
the memory of the words, only the ordinary amount 
went' to the tongue. 

A man stutters because the tongue is too full of 
nervous force ; so full that the mind cannot restrain, 
regulate, guide. Most machines will work badly if 
worked too fast ; every one knows that it is possible to 
be so much in a hurry to do a thing, that it cannot be 
done at all, giving rise to the saying, " More haste, worse 
speed." This is but a stammering of the hands or 
fingers. 

All that is necessary to a cure in any case, is to obtain 
self-control. There is an excessive run of nerve power 
to the tongue; divert a portion of it in another direction, 
and the cure is certain in every case. For example, 
when the stammerer attempts to speak, he- should en- 
deavor to do something else at the same time, say with 
foot or finger. Let him stamp his foot on the ground 



STAMMERING. 203 

at the same time that he utters each syllable, and stam- 
mering is impossible. 

The most inveterate stutterer reads as distinctly as 
any man, although we do not remember to have seen 
this fact noticed ; it is because part of the attention is 
attracted to the notice of the words ; it answers the 
same purpose to tap the finger against some object at 
each • utterance. In this way the most obstinate case 
can be permanently cured in a few months. In the case 
of children, it should never be remarked upon ; some 
parents get angry, and begin to scold or threaten, and 
even punish the child on the instant of its beginning to 
stammer ; this only aggravates the case, because it con- 
fuses and alarms, and is fixed for life. Better do all 
possible to encourage, to compose, to give confidence ; 
ridicule deepens and fixes the habits. Many other 
nervous affections, twitches, motions, noises from the 
nose, mouth, lungs, etc., are aggravated and deepened 
by harshness, as well as by ridicule, and become life- 
long blemishes. 



Diseased Meat. — When poultry or other meat is fresh 
and good, it has a firm, hard feel, and is elastic ; tainted 
meat feels soft, and returns to its shape slowly when 
indented, like dough when pressed with the finger. 
Fresh meat, well killed, does not moisten the finger; 
tainted meat does, and has a slimy feel. Keeping meats 
until they are about "to turn," makes them tender to 
eat, but they are harder to digest than fresh meat. 



204: FATUITY. 



FATUITY 

Is weak-mindedness, imbecility: that form of it which 
is the result of old age, manifests itself in a want of 
memory, which causes many foolish and silly things to 
be said and done ; there is also a want of judgment in 
many of the common affairs of life, and the mind seems 
to have lost its balance as to the most ordinary transac- 
tions, while on a few subjects — that one subject in each, 
which has been the ruling passion of life — there is a 
degree of acuteness, the more marvellous from its con- 
trast, with an almost entire absence of sense in other 
things. Some call it childishness, which minds ap- 
proaching it regard with peculiar horror; just as persons 
whose dread of cancer is almost the terror of life, do at 
length become its victims. 

For the fatuity of old age there is no cure, because 
the state of mind which induced it has worked organic 
changes in the brain; has in a sense changed the nature 
of its substance, as life-long scars are left as effects of 
wounds on the body. Fatuity may be modified, may be 
kept at bay to a certain extent, so as to make compara- 
tively a very slow progress, by a simple effort of the will 
in cultivating company and lively conversation. En- 
courage visiting ; go and see your friends every day if 
possible, and make friends happy who come to see you 
— then they will come oftener — the happiness which 
arises from a sincerity of reception, where there is a 
true whole-heartedness, no sham, no pretence, no 
hypocrisy. 



FATUITY. 205 

Fatuity may be prevented by following the opposite 
of the things which bring it on. The chief causes of 
fatuity are: — 

1st. Living a secluded life: some persons have no 
sociability ; they do not go to see others, they do not 
want to have others come and see them. This is gene- 
rally the result of intense selfishness ; they are so im- 
mersed in their own affairs, so busy in their own in- 
terests, that they do not like to be interrupted ; hence, 
there is more or less of coldness or reserve, and that 
visitor comes no more ; or if there is an occasional call, 
it is stiff and formal ; there is no going out of heart to 
heart; there is no reciprocity of frankness and true 
friendship ; and soon the heart becomes an icicle, and 
the affections are dead. Thus it is that there are not a 
few who die, and not a single human being sheds a tear 
at the grave ; not only no regret is felt at the final pass- 
ing away, but there is an absolute feeling of relief at 
the riddance. The very contemplation of such an ending 
is positively terrible. 

2d. There are others of the old who arrive at the 
same destination from a miserly disposition, practised in 
youth, from necessity it may be, and in later life from 
the sheer greed of gold. The habit of saving becomes 
so infixed that it is impossible to break it up ; it is a 
second nature, an uncontrollable passion; it becomes 
meat and drink, and existence itself; everything is 
swallowed up in it, is sacrificed to it, and all sympathy, 
friendship, affection, love, and even a common humanity, 
are irrevocably dead. 

As we grow older, then, let us practise benevolence 
more; cultivate geniality, social intercourse, and a 



206 FATUITY. 

generous reciprocity of all the sweet courtesies of social 
and domestic life, and then tears and flowers will be 
mingled at our grave, and the memory of us will be 
blessed. 



If consumption has prevailed in either of your families, 
use the earliest precautions to prevent your children 
falling victims to the same disease. Though consump- 
tion may not have been common on the side of either, 
yet precaution is not the less important. Two or three 
neglected colds in winter, or a cutting blast in spring, 
with improper clothing, may, in an infirm constitution, 
securely seat the relentless destroyer; at the best, 
wretched health will be a certain consequence. When 
they who must be ignorant of the essential difference 
between a common cold and consumption, boast of their 
cures, hear, but heed them not : ask this question of 
your own common sense, what experience or inspiration 
can instruct such pretenders'? It is wise to check a cold 
the first week; but much wiser the first four and twenty 
hours. 



Since it has been shown that persons in every variety 
of climate and exposure, of occupation and trade, have 
preserved their health and strength, and have attained 
a cheerful old age, with no other drink than simple 
water, no one can contend for the necessity, to man's 
well-being, of any other drink. But the plea of necessity 
being abandoned, that of gratifying the taste, cheering 
the mind, and giving strength and vivacity to the body, 
has been urged by many members of temperate societies 
in favor of fermented liquors. 



A DREARY PROSPECT. 207 



A DREARY PROSPECT. 

Is it true that, owing to the gradual increase of popu- 
lation, the surface of the earth is destined, in the course 
of ages, to refuse its aliment to the human race, and 
that a day will come when the sun will shine on an 
unpeopled and desert globe'? Such is the question 
started by many eminent men since the commencement 
of the present century. It is a positive fact that, in 
consequence of the populous state of many countries 
which, during the middle ages, were but feebly peopled, 
it has become impossible to leave a large quantity of 
land alternately fallow for a certain time, until the soil 
has regained the phosphorus which, under different 
forms, it has yielded to the grain, so necessary to the 
sustenance of man. It is equally true that the manure 
spread over the fields is insufficient to renew the supply 
of phosphorus ; and that countries which, in the olden 
time, were remarkable for their fertility, have since been 
transformed into deserts. Nor can it be denied that in 
taking food we absorb an enormous quantity of the 
fertilizing phosphorus — in order to build up and re- 
pair our osseous system, which is almost exclusively 
composed of phosphate of lime. Did we, on quitting 
this sublunary abode, restore to the earth what we re- 
ceived from it, the loss to the community would be 
comparatively small ; but this is what we do not; our 
(lend are inclosed within stone vaults or impenetrable 
coffins, and thus, out of filial piety or respect for the 
dead in general, we are induced to withhold from our 
mother earth that very nutriment which she is so much 



208 A DREARY PROSPECT. 

in want of to feed us, while we multiply in nearly a 
geometrical ratio, and go on drawing upon her resources 
until she must be reduced in the end to a state of hope- 
less barrenness. And what is then to become of the 
human race % Will it have to live upon fish, or will 
anthropophagy be its last resort % To these dismal pre- 
sentiments, the accomplishment of which we may com- 
fortably view from the convenient distance of many 
centuries, we would reply that from the moment chem- 
ists discovered that the great agent of civilization is 
phosphorus under various forms, the problem may be 
considered in a great measure solved, since it is reduced 
to the simple condition of providing that great agent. 
Among the chief remedies against any deficiency in the 
natural supply, there are the importation of guano, and 
the application of mineral phosphates to agricultural 
purposes ; and, before these fail, other sources will, un- 
doubtedly, be discovered by science. To these reflec- 
tions we may add that increase of population is invari- 
ably regulated by the means of existence, and that, 
whenever there is any danger of an excess of the former, 
nature applies a corrective in the form of some pesti- 
lence or other great calamity — even when men them- 
selves do not, following their instincts, either destroy 
each other in battle, or drain off the surplus by emigra- 
tion. These, history itself shows, are quite as natural 
checks (though apparently of a political nature) as those 
alluded to, which are independent of our will. 



Let but the drunkard alone, and he will fall of him- 
self. 



MAXIMS FOR THE DECLINE OF LIFE. 209 



MAXIMS FOR THE DECLINE OF LIFE. 

To such of our readers as have passed the meridian of 
their days, and who are desirous of prolonging their lives, 
health, and happiness for a still longer term, we recom- 
mend a close attention to the following maxims. They 
form part of " A code of resolutions for declining 
life," drawn up by an old physician. The entire code is 
well deserving of careful perusal ; but the part which we 
have thought proper to pass over would appear to belong 
rather to a code of ethics than of health. The resolu- 
tions to be adopted by all who are in the decline of life 
are: — 

To endeavor to get the better of the intrusions of in- 
dolence of mind and of body, those certain harbingers of 
enfeebling age. 

Rather to wear out, than to rust out. 

To rise early, and, as often as possible, to go to bed 
long before midnight. 

Not to nod in company, nor to indulge in repose too 
frequently on the couch by clay. 

Not to give up walking, nor to 'ride on horseback to 
fatigue. 

Experience and a staid medical authority determines 
from six to ten miles a day. Nothing contributes more 
to the preservation of appetite, and the prolongation of 
life, than the constant use of the feet. 

To continue the practice of reading, pursued, it is to be 
hoped, for more than half a century, in books on all sub- 
jecta — for variety is the salt of the mind, as well as 
81 the spice of life." 
14 



210 MAXIMS FOR THE DECLINE OF LIFE. 

To admit every cheerful ray of sunshine on the imagi- 
nation. 

To try to live within one's income, be it large or small. 

Not to encourage romantic hopes or fears. 

Not to drive away hope, the sovereign balm of life — 
though it be the greatest of all flatterers. 

Not wilfully to undertake anything, for the accom- 
plishment of which the mind or body is not sufficiently 
strong. 

To avoid being jostled too much in the streets — being 
stunned by the noise of the carriages — and not to be 
carried, even by curiosity itself, into a large crowd. 

Not to run the race of competition, nor to be in an- 
other's way. 

To preserve one's temper on all occasions ; and, hence, 
never to give up the reins to constitutional impatience. 

If one cannot be a stoic, in bearing and forbearing on 
every trying occasion, yet to endeavor by every means to 
pull the checlv string against the moroseness of spleen, or 
the impetuosity of peevishness. Anger is a short mad- 
ness. 

To contrive to have as few unemployed hours as pos- 
sible, that idleness, the mother of vices and of crimes, 
may not pay her visits. To be always doing something, 
and to have something to do. To fill up one's time, and 
to have a good deal to fill it up with — for time is the 
material of which life is made. 

Not to indulge too much in the luxury of the table, 
nor yet to underlive the constitution. The gout, rheu- 
matism, and dropsy, in the language of the Spectator, 
seem to be hovering over the dishes. Wine, the great 
purveyor of pleasure, offers his service, when love takes 
his leave. It is natural to catch hold on every help when 



MAXIMS FOR THE DECLINE OF LIFE. 211 

the spirits begin to droop ; but let it be recollected that 
while love and wine are good cordials, they are not to 
be forced into common use. 

To resolve never to go to bed on a full meal. Exer- 
cise, a light supper, and a good conscience are the best 
promoters of a good night's rest, and the parents of un- 
disturbing dreams. 

Xot to be enervated by indulgence in tea-drinking. 

Not to debilitate the mind by new and futile composi- 
tions. Like the spider, it may spin itself to death. The 
mind, like the field, must have its fallow season. 

To enjoy rationally the present — not to be made too 
unhappy by reflection on the past, nor to be oppressed 
by invincible gloom, or ridiculous fears as to the future. 

To resolve more than ever to shun every public station, 
every arduous undertaking. To be satisfied with being 
master of one's self, one's habits, now a second nature, 
and one's time. Determined not to solicit, unless 
cruelly trampled on by fortune, nor to live and die in 
harness of official station, of trade, or a profession. 

Not to lose sight, even for a single day, of the good 
and proverbial doctors — Diet, Merryman, and Quiet. 

Resolve to remember, and to recommend, towards 
tranquillity and longevity, the three oral maxims of Sir 
Hans Sloanc: "never to Quarrel with one's self, one's 
wife, nor one's friend." 

Xot to put one's self too much in the power of the 
elements, as modified by the sun, the wind, the rain, and 
the night air. 



Butter is gold in the morning, silver at noon, lead ;»t 
night. 



2T3 TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 



TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 

" 'Tis the great art of life to manage well 
The restless mind." 

These maxims are most strictly true. It is of the 
highest importance of health to preserve the tranquillity 
of the mind, and not to sink under the disappointments 
of life, or give way to the turbulence of the passions ; for 
nothing injures more the nervous system, and more 
effectually impairs the digestive powers of the stomach, 
than the influence of the various mental affections, such 
as fear, grief, anxiety, disappointment, anger, despair, 
rage, or any other violent passion, whether sudden, or 
attended by protracted painful sensations. When they 
become vehement and immoderate, they disorder the 
body in various ways, chiefly by their impression upon 
the nervous system, and by their accelerating or retard- 
ing the circulation of the blood, and the various secretions. 

From the influence of the passions upon the system, 
when they are allowed to escape from under the control 
of reason, a large proportion of the most dreaded dis- 
eases to which human nature is subject originate. They 
increase, also, the malignity of disease, change its ordi- 
nary course, and aggravate it by a thousand incidental 
evils. During the prevalence of epidemics, they augment 
in a very considerable degree the susceptibility to an 
attack. 

But, while the indulgence of the passions injures, in 
various ways, the health both of the body and the mind, 
a calm, contented, cheerful disposition is invariably a 
fruitful source of health. Looking at the favorable side 
of things, and, independent of the other advantages 



TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 213 

afforded by equanimity of temper, we are assured " that a 
cheerful tone of mind helps digestion more than is im- 
agined," and all are aware of the saying of the wise 
king, ' ; a merry heart doeth good like a medicine, but a 
broken spirit drieth the bones." The stimulus of the 
joyous and gently exciting passions, in suspending the 
incipient symptoms of various diseases, is often almost 
miraculous, while during the course of a severe and pro- 
tracted complaint, a favorable or unfavorable issue is 
often mainly determined by the nature of the mental 
emotions indulged in by the patient. 

For the due preservation and enjoyment of health, 
observe fair play between cares and pastimes, increase 
all your natural and healthy enjoyments, cultivate your 
evening fireside or domestic circle, the society of your 
friends, the company of agreeable children, music and 
amusing books, an urbane and a generous gallantry. 



Medical Antidote. — To sailors or soldiers on foreign 
coasts, especially where dampness prevails. This will 
often prevent fevers, and other fatal diseases: R. Peru- 
vian bark one ounce, orange-peel half-ounce, snakeroot 
two ounces ; to be added, coarsely powdered, to one quart 
of brandy, and infused for fourteen days ; half a wine- 
glassful of which is to be taken two or three times a 
day, when the stomach is empty. This has been found 
to be an excellent antidote against fluxes, putrid, inter- 
mitting, and other fevers in unhealthy climates. It may 
be infused in water, wine, or spirits, as above, or made 
into an electuary with syrup of lemon, oranges, or the 
like 



214 EXPERIENCE OF JEFFERSON. 



EXPERIENCE OF JEFFERSON. 

'Of his habits of temperance, and their beneficial 
effects on his health, Mr. Jefferson speaks as follows, in 
a letter to a friend : — 

" I have lived temperately, eating little animal food, 
and that not as an aliment so much as a condiment for 
the vegetables, which constitute my principal diet. I 
double, however, the doctor's glass and a half of wine, 
and even treble it with a friend ; but halve its effects by 
drinking the weak wines only. The ardent wines I 
cannot drink, nor do I use ardent spirits in any form. 
Malt liquors and cider are my table, drinks, and my 
breakfast is of tea and coffee. I have been blest with 
organs of digestion, which accept and ^Concoct, without 
ever murmuring, whatever the palate chooses to consign 
to them : and I have not yet lost a tooth by age. I was 
a hard student until I entered on the business of life, 
the duties of which leave no idle time to those disposed 
to fulfil them ; and now retired, and at the age of seventy- 
six, I am again a hard student. Indeed my fondness 
for reading and study revolts me from the drudgery of 
letter-writing; and a stiff wrist, the consequence of an 
early dislocation, makes writing both slow and painful. 
I am not so regular in my sleep as our friend says he 
was. I devote to it from five to eight hours, according 
as my company or the book I am reading interests me ; 
and I never go to bed without an hour or half hour'* 
reading of something moral whereon to ruminate in the 
intervals of sleep. But whether I retire to bed early or 
late, I rise with the sun. I use spectacles at night, but 



EXPERIENCE OF JEFFERSON. 215 

not necessarily in the day, unless in reading small print. 
My hearing is distinct in conversation with an indi- 
vidual, but confused when several voices cross each 
other, which unfits me for the society of the table. I 
have been more fortunate than my friend in the article 
of health ; so free from catarrhs, that I have not had one 
(in the breast, I mean) on an average of eight or ten 
years through life. I ascribe this exception partly to 
the habit of bathing my feet in cold water every morning 
for sixty years past. A fever of more than twenty-four 
hours I have not had above two or three times in my 
life. A periodical headache has afflicted me occasionally, 
once, perhaps, in six or eight years, for two or three 
weeks at a time, which seems now to have left me ; and 
except on a late occasion of indisposition, I enjoy good 
health — too feeble, indeed, to walk much, but riding with- 
out fatigue six or eight miles a day, and sometimes 
thirty or forty." 



Health and Wealth. — There is this difference between 
those two temporal blessings, health and money; money 
is the most envied, but the least enjoyed; health is the 
most enjoyed, but the least envied; and this superiority 
of the latter is still more obvious, when we reflect that 
the poorest man would not part with health for money, 
but that the richest would gladly part with all their 
money for health. 



Gnaw the bone which is fallen to thy lot. That is, 
he that hath an ill wife must patiently bear with her. 
It may also be applied to other things. 



216 PRACTICE OF WESLEY IN REGARD TO SLEEP. 



PRACTICE OF WESLEY IN REGARD TO SLEEP. 

The celebrated John Wesley, who paid every attention 
to the best means of invigorating his body, in order that 
he might be enabled to exert himself for the general 
benefit of his fellow creatures, to the utmost his corporeal 
and mental powers would allow, informs us that he had 
been accustomed to awake every night about twelve or 
one o'clock, and lay without sleeping for some time: he, 
therefore, very justly concluded that this was caused by 
his lying in bed longer than nature required. To be 
satisfied upon this point he procured an alarum, which 
awakened him next morning at seven, nearly an hour 
earlier than his usual time of rising. He still lay awake 
at night. The ensuing morning he rose at six ; but 
notwithstanding this he lay awake the second night. 
The third morning he rose at five ; but, nevertheless, 
lay awake the third night. His next hour of rising was 
at four, and lying no longer awake, he, for a period of 
about sixty years, continued the same practice; and, 
taking the year round, never lay awake for a quarter of 
an hour at a time during a month. He justly adds, that 
by the same experiment, rising earlier and earlier every 
morning, any person may discover how much sleep he 
really stands in need of. Mr. Wesley was in the habit 
of going to bed at ten, so that by rising at four, he 
had six hours uninterrupted sleep, which he considered 
to be sufficient for his own health : he, however, very 
properly remarks, that invalids and persons of a delicate 
constitution, and those accustomed to much bodily 
fatigue during the day, may require seven or eight 
hours' sleep. 



EAT OF ONE DISH ONLY. 217 



EAT OF ONE DISH ONLY. 

" As to the quality of food, although whatever is easy 
of digestion, singly considered, deserves the preference, 
yet regard must be had to the palate and to the appetite; 
because -it is frequently found that what the stomach 
earnestly covets, though of difficult digestion, does, 
nevertheless, digest better than what is esteemed of 
easier digestion, if the stomach nauseates it. I am of 
opinion, however, each person ought to Oat only of one 
dish at a meal. 

" Every animal but man keeps to one dish. Herbs 
are the food of this species — fish of that — and flesh of a 
third." 

" Be content with one dish at a meal ; in the choice 
of that, consult your palate." 

" Things disagreeable to the palate seldom digest 
well, or contribute to the nourishment of the body." 

" The stomach of an invalid requires occasionally a 
little humoring — but what may be termed simple diet is 
to dine off the first course, which, for the most part, in 
what is termed a homely way, consists of a joint or rib, 
and the necessary vegetables. Persons who confine 
themselves to this are by far the most healthy, as well 
as the most hearty eaters." 



I lonor a physician before thou hast need of him. 
That is, we must honor God in our health and pros- 
perity, that Ur may be propitious to us in our adversity. 



218 TRAVELLING WITH AN OBJECT IN VIEW. 



TRAVELLING WITH AN OBJECT IN VIEW. 

The celebrated Sydenham displayed, as a late writer 
has very aptly remarked, much wisdom and address, in 
calling into action the power and effects of gymnastic 
medicine, in his scheme, which had an object of more 
interest in view, than that of the ancient physician, who 
sent his patients on their travels without any other object 
than merely touching the walls of Megara. He once 
acknowledged to a patient, whom he had long attended, 
that he was unable to render him any further service ; 
adding at the same time that he might expect benefit 
from a personal application to a Dr. Robertson at Inver- 
ness. Encouraged by the communication, his patient 
set off in search of this wonderful Scotch doctor ; but on 
his arrival at Inverness, not being able, after diligent in- 
quiry, to find the object of his search, he immediately 
returned back to London and hurried to Sydenham to 
reproach him for trifling with him. " Well," replied 
the doctor, " are you better in health V ' " Yes, I am now 
perfectly well; but no thanks to you." "No !" replied 
Sydenham, " but you may thank Dr. Robertson for cur- 
ing you. I wished to send you on a distant journey with 
some object in view, I knew it would be of service to 
you. In going, you had Dr. Robertson and his wonder-* 
ful cures in contemplation — and in returning you were 
equally engaged in thinking on scolding me." 

The Egyptian doctors envinced equal skill in calling in 
the aid of collateral objects, to give effect to the powers 
of medicine. 

"An intelligent French author," says Wadd, "men- 



TRAVELLING TTITH AX OBJECT IN VIEW. 219 

tions, that a thousand years before the Christian era, the 
Egyptians had two temples dedicated to Saturn, which 
they wisely placed at the extremities of the kingdom, 
for the benefit of hypochondriacal patients. These tem- 
ples were the Bath and Brighton of the East ; places at 
which the iron restraints of diet and the doctor were 
made palatable by recreative amusements, and the dis- 
eased mind was diverted from itself by agreeable images 
and melodious sounds. What would be the effect of a 
bottle of Spa water drunk in secrecy and silence \ They 
were aware, also, of the great importance of exercise — 
and sent their patients to these distant temples : Not on 
account of the healing property of the waters, but on ac- 
count of the length of the journey." 



The Way to Health. — The only true way to health is 
that which common sense dictates to man. Live within 
the bounds of reason ; eat moderately, drink temperately, 
avoid excess in anything, and preserve a conscience 
" void of offence." Some men eat themselves to death, 
some wear out their lives by indolence, and some by 
over-exertion ; others are killed by the doctors, while 
not a few sink into the grave under the effects of vicious 
and beastly practices. All the medicines in creation are 
not worth a farthing to a man who is constantly and 
habitually violating the laws of his own nature. All 
the medical science in the world cannot save him from 
a premature grave. With a suicidal course of conduct 
he i> planting the seeds of decay in his own constitution, 
and accelerating the destruction of his own life. 



220 HEALTH WITHOUT PHYSIC. 



HEALTH WITHOUT PHYSIC. 

" ' Health without physic ! Health without physic ! 
the man's surely mad ! Who can be well without doc- 
tor's stuff? Impossible ! 'Tis some quack or other puf- 
fing off his nostrums.' This is the language, or some- 
thing like it, which it is expected will be growled out 
and mumbled over, by the sceptical and never to be 
satisfied many, when they first fix their eyes on the title 
of this article. True ! we are puffing off a nostrum — 
such a nostrum, forsooth, as is in every man's power to 
purchase without putting his hand in his pocket. But 
where is it? it may be as peevishly asked: the answer is, 
briefly, read my book, that is to say, this book, and you 
will find it. Follow the dictates of reason and nature, 
those never-erring guides. ' Throw physic to the dogs,' 
unless you be actually ill-benefit by the experience of 
others, and learn to live and supply nature's wants,- 
without pampering the appetite to the injury of the con- 
stitution. To live long, people must live well, that is, 
not upon the fat of the land, but rather upon the whole- 
some products, animal and vegetable, which the land 
affords, properly prepared and cooked. Temperance, the 
mother of virtues, and so essential to happiness, among 
the panaceas to which we allude, ought to be cherished, 
not only for the sake of the good it does the mind, 
but it should equally be practised with care for the ad- 
vantages which it procures to the body — it being that 
alone which preserves the latter in health, and cures it 
of the diseases with which its opposite, intemperance, 
afflicts it. Now, gentle readers, as temperance, the in- 
separable companion of well-regulated minds, is the nos- 



HEALTH "WITHOUT PHYSIC. 221 

trum which stands least in need of the puff direct or 
oblique, because it is a genuine article, it need only be 
asked, that, if we do not observe it, with whom ought 
we to be angry \ How can we be happy, if we suffer 
acute pains — if we be tormented with the gout, or the 
asthma — if our stomach cease to perform its offices — if 
our legs, swelled and weak, refuse to support or carry us 
along \ And yet all these, and many other evils, are the 
certain consequences of intemperance. He who pur- 
chases the pleasures of the bottle at the expense of the 
most acute pains, pays very dear for his wine. If we 
reason, consequently the more we love pleasures the 
fonder we should be of temperance, because it is the 
latter which makes the former desirable. Temperance, 
in fine, is so far from being an enemy to pleasures, that 
it preserves them and only checks the excessive use of 
them, which, most evidently, is the very thing that de- 
stroys them. There are other considerations under which 
temperance falls, besides the mere animal propensity of 
eating and drinking. Intemperance is excess of any 
kind, and may be applied to every function and action 
of both body and mind ; for the due regulation of which, 
without the aid of bolus or pill, it is the object of the fol- 
lowing pages to prescribe ; and which, if the prescrip- 
tion be well followed up, will soon enable a man to ' live 
all the days of his life' with satisfaction to himself, and 
comfort to every one around him. Is it not then true, 
my worthy friends and readers, that temperance requires 
no physician's aid — consequently, neither draught, mix- 
ture, electuary, nor powder \ It is itself the true balm 
of ( tilead — it ministers to itself — it is its own doctor, and 
its own reward — it asks nothing for advice, and always 
affords real pleasure and lasting happiness to its vota- 
ries." 



999 



DIGESTIBILITY OF FOOD. 



DIGESTIBILITY OF FOOD. 

The following table of the digestibility of the most commou articles of 
food, prepared from standard authorities, is approximately correct, and is of 
very general practical interest : — 



Quality. 



Rice 

Pigs' feet, soused 

Tripe, soused 

Eggs, whipped 

Trout, salmon, fresh... 
Trout, salmon, fresh. . . 

Soup, barley 

Apples, sweet, mellow. 

Venison steak 

Brains, animal 

Sago 

Tapioca 

Barley 

Milk 

Liver, beef's fresh 

Eggs, fresh 

Codfish, cured, dry 

Apples, sour, mellow.. 
Cabbage, with vinegar. 

Milk.. 

Eggs, fresh 

Turkey, wild 

Turkey, domestic 

Gelatine 

Turkey, domestic 

Goose, wild 

Pig, sucking 

Lamb, fresh 

Hash, meat and vegeta- 
bles 

Beans, pod 

Cake, sponge 

Parsnips 

Potatoes, Irish 

Cabbage, head 

Spinal marrow, animal 

Chicken, full grown 

Custard 

Beef, with salt only . . . . 

Apples, sour, hard 

Oysters, fresh 

Eggs, fresh 

Bass, striped, fresh 

Beef, fresh, lean, rare.. . 











Preparation. 






Sp-I 




H 




H. M. 


Boiled 


1.00 


" 


100 


" 


1.0 i 


Raw 


1 30 


Boiled 


1 3D 


Fried 


1.30 


Boiled 


1:30 


Raw 


1.30 


Broiled 


1.35 


Boiled 


1.45 


" 


1.45 


" 


2.00 


" 


2 00 


" 


2 00 


Broiled 


2.00 


Raw 


2 00 


Boiled 


2.00 


Raw 


2 00 


" 


2.00 


" 


2.15 


Roasted 


2.15 


" 


2.18 


Boiled 


2.25 


'■ 


2.30 


Roasted 


2.30 


" 


2.30 


ti 


2.30 


Broiled 


2.30 


Warmed 


2.30 


Boiled 


2.30 i 


Baked 


2.30 1 


Boiled 


2 30 1 


Roasted 


2.30 j 


Raw 


2 30 1 


Boiled 


2.40 


Fricasseed 


2.45 


Baked 


2.45 


Boiled 


2.45 


Raw 


2.5<» 


" 


2.55 i 


Soft boiled 


3.01) 


Broiled 


3 00 


Roasted 


3.00 1 



Quality. 



Pork, recently salted . . 

Mutton, fresh 

Soup 

Chicken soup 

Aponeurosis 

Dumpling, apple 

Cake, corn 

Oysters, fresh 

Pork steak 

Mutton, fresh 

Bread, corn 

Carrot, orange 

Sausage, fresh 

Flounder, fresh 

Catfish, fresh 

Oysters, fresh 

Butter 

Cheese, old, strong 

Soup, mutton 

Oyster soup 

Bread, wheat, fresh 

Turnips, flat 

Potatoes, Irish 

Eggs, fresh 

Green corn and beans 

Beets 

Salmon, salted 

Beef 

Veal, fresh 

Fowls, domestic 

Soup, beef, vegetables, 

and bread 

Heart, animal 

Beef, old, hard, salted 
Soup, marrow-bones.. 

Cartilage 

Pork, recently salted.. 

Veal, fresh 

Ducks, wild 

Suet, mutton 

Cabbage 

Pork, fat and lean 

Tendon 

Suet, beef, fresh 



Preparation. 



Stewed 
Broiled 
Boiled 



Baked 

Roasted 

Broiled 

Roasted 

Baked 

Boiled 

Broiled 

Fried 

Stewed 
Melted 
Raw 
Boiled 



Hard boiled 
Boiled 



Fried 

Broiled 

Roasted 

Boiled 

Fried 

Boiled 



Fried 

Roasted 

Boiled 

Roasted 
Boiled 






H.M. 
3 00 
3.00 
3.00 
3.00 
3.00 
3.00 
3.00 
3.15 
3.15 
3.15 
315 
3.15 
3 30 
3 30 



3.30 
3.30 

3.30 



3.30 
3.45 
3.45 
4.00 
4.00 
4 00 
4.00 

4.00 
4.00 
4 15 
4.15 
415 
4.30 



4 50 

4 30 
G '5 
5.30 

5 30 



What Invalids should Avoid Eating. 



Cream 

New bread 

Hot rolls 

Fat bacon 

Buns 

Sweet biscuit 

Rich soup 

Beef 

Pork 

Veai 



Ham 

Fried potatoes 

Green tea 

Mashed potatoes 

Sausages 

Stuffing of meats 

Smoked beef 

Salt meat 

Salt fish 

Peas and beans 



Fried fish 

Boiled salmon 

Mackerel 

Catfish 

Fried mush 

Coffee 

Sprats 

Eels 

Cheese 

Pastry 



Salads 

Raw vegetables 

Cucumbers 

Radishes 

Lettuce 

Nuts 

Cocoa nuts 

Fried cakes 

Chocolate 



RULES FOR THE PEDESTRIAN. 223 



RULES FOR THE PEDESTRIAN. 

By attention to the following rules, the advantages to 
health, resulting from the exercise of walking, will be 
greatly increased: — 

1st. The most proper walk for health is in a pure and 
dry air, and in rather an elevated situation, avoiding 
marshy and damp plains. 

2d. In the summer season the walk should be taken 
early in the morning or towards the close of day— but 
by no means during the middle of the day, unless 
guarded from the oppressive heat of the sun, under the 
shade of a wood or grove. In winter the best period for 
walking is a short time after an early breakfast, or from 
ten to one. 

3d. It is advisable to change occasionally the direc- 
tion of the walk. The same place being gone over 
constantly, may excite as many disagreeable sensations 
as the closet or the study. 

4th. The pedestrian should accustom himself to a 
very steady and regular, but not to a very rapid pace. 
In setting out, it should be rather slower than what may 
afterwards be indulged in. 

5th. To read during a walk is an improper practice, 
highly detrimental to the eyes, and destroying nearly all 
tho good effects to be derived from pedestrian exercise. 

6th. It is highly beneficial to have a certain object or 
spot by which the walk is to be bounded — as to call at 
the house of a friend — to see some important improve- 
ment, or some delightful prospect, and the like. 

7th. An agreeable companion also contributes much 



224 RULES FOR THE PEDESTRIAN. 

to serenity of mind ; bnt, unless the style of walking, 
and tastes of the companions are similar, it is better to 
walk alone, as either one or the other must be subjected 
to considerable constraint. 



Instance of Longevity. — John S. Hutton, who died in 
Philadelphia, at the age of one hundred years. He was 
born in New York, in 1649. His grandfather lived to 
be one hundred and one, but was unable to walk for 
thirty years before he died, from an excessive accumula- 
tion of fat. His mother died at ninety-one. His con- 
stant drink water, beer, or cider. He had a fixed dislike 
to spirituous liquors of all kinds. His appetite was 
good, and he ate plentifully during the last year of his 
life. He seldom drank anything between his meals. 
He was intoxicated but twice, and that was when at 
sea in early youth. He had been subject to a frequent 
headache, but never had a fever except from the small- 
pox. His pulse was slow but regular. He had been 
twice married. By his first wife he had eight, and by 
his second seventeen children, one of whom lived to be 
eighty-three years of age. Mr. Hutton was about five 
feet nine inches in height, and of a slender make ; he 
carried an erect head to the last year of his life. 



Brink. — If drink be merely required for allaying 
thirst and dryness, and diminishing the tenacity and 
acrimony of the fluids, then is cold water, when limpid, 
light without smell and taste, and obtained from a clear 
running stream, the best drink for a robust man. 



DOMESTIC ITEMS, 225 



DOMESTIC ITEMS. 

The Objects of Exercise. — The great objects should be 
to re-invigorate the body, and to work off the worn-out 
matters in the system ; but if carried to excess, the sur- 
plusage is not only thrown off, but also other elements 
that are necessary for the growth of the body. There- 
fore, exercise should not be excessive and over-fatiguing ; 
it should be prolonged and moderate, rather than short 
and laborious, and should be stopped short of actual 
fatigue. The amount of exercise necessary depends 
greatly on the quantity of food consumed. Respiration, 
circulation, and digestion, though they are involuntary, 
yet their full and perfect performance is greatly depen- 
dent upon our voluntary movements. Neglect of exer- 
cise weakens and disorders the stomach, reduces the 
capacity of the chest, and prevents free circulation in 
the minute vessels. Neither body nor mind can attain 
its full and perfect development without exercise. It 
should be of such a nature as to bring all the muscles 
into action, and if this cannot be done by any single 
movement, the exercise should be varied so as to accom- 
plish this end. 

Cure for Earache. — Take a small piece of cotton- 
wool, making a depression in the centre with the end of 
a finger, and fill it with as much ground pepper as will 
rest on a five-cent piece, gather it into a ball and tie it 
up, dip the ball into sweet oil and insert it into the ear, 
covering the latter with cotton-wool, and use a bandage 
or cap to retain it in its place. Almost instant relief 
15 



226 DOMESTIC ITEMS. 

will be experienced, and the application is so gentle that 
an infant will not be injured by it, but experience relief 
as well as adults. 

Injections for the Ear. 

R. — Fellis bovini f^iij ; 

Balsami Peruviana 3j. — Mix. 
To be dropped occasionally into the ear to correct a fetid discharge, 
syringing the ear every day with a weak solution of soap and water. 

Also 

R. — Creasoti gtt, iij ; 
Syrupi 3J ; 
Aquae gvij. — Mix. 
Sig. — To be used like the foregoing. 

Mustard Plasters. — By using syrup or molasses for 
mustard plasters they will keep soft and flexible, and 
not dry up and become hard, as when mixed with water. 
A thin paper or cloth should come between the plaster 
and the skin. The strength of the plaster is varied by 
the addition of more or less flour. 

Light Reading Unprofitable. — Literature of every 
kind is flooding the country ; and when we have so 
much to choose from, that is both entertaining and 
profitable, we need have no excuse for spending our 
time over the cheap, trashy creations of the day. Such 
reading only excites the mind; the memory becomes 
impaired, the nervous system diseased, and frequently a 
taste is acquired for it which soon destroys all desire for 
pure and wholesome information and mental improve- 
ments. How important, then, that children should be 
allowed to read nothing but what will influence them 
for good ; and parents themselves should set the example. 
If the foundation is well laid, Ave need have but little 
fear of the superstructure. So with reading, if good 



DOMESTIC ITEMS. 227 

seed is sown and properly cultivated, there is no reason 
why good results should .not be obtained. 

Application for Scrofula. — We recommend mutton 
tallow, four ounces; white rosin three drachms; bees- 
wax four ounces ; Burgundy pitch four ounces ; sweet 
oil two ounces ; West India rum one gill ; oil sassafras 
two ounces. Make into a salve and apply on cloth. 
Cleanse the blood thoroughly with the syrup of ferri 
iodidi. The dose is from ten to forty drops three times 
a day. 

Effect of Tea on the Shin. — If you drop a few drops 
of strong tea upon a piece of iron, a knife blade, for 
instance, the tannate of iron is formed, which is black. 
If you mix with iron filings or pulverized iron, you can 
make a fair article of ink. If you mix it with fresh 
human blood it forms, with the iron of the blood, the 
tannate of iron. Take human skin and let it soak for 
a time in strong tea and it will become leather. Now v 
when we remember that the liquids which enter the 
stomach are rapidly absorbed by the veins and absorbents 
of the stomach, and enter into the circulation, and are 
thrown out of the system by the skin, respiration, and 
kidneys, it is probable that a drink so common as tea 
and so abundantly used, will have some effect. Can it 
be possible that tannin, introduced with so much warm 
liquor, producing perspiration, will have no effect upon 
the skin? Look at the tea drinkers of Russia, the 
Chinese, and the old women of America, who have so 
long continued the habit of drinking strong teas. Are 
they not dark colored and leather skinned] When 
young they were fair complexioned. 



228 THE HUMAN MOUTH AND LIPS. 



THE HUMAN MOUTH AND LIPS. 

The beauty of the human mouth and lips, the delicacy 
of their formation and tints, their power of expression, 
which is only inferior to that of the eyes, and their 
elevated position as the media, with the palate, tongue, 
and teeth, by which we communicate our thoughts to 
others in an audible form, need scarcely be dilated on 
here. The lips are very liable to suffer when exposed 
to cold and drying winds. The most common effects of 
such exposure are chaps or small fissures in them; 
chapped lips most frequently occur in persons with pale, 
bluish, moist lips, and a languid circulation, who are 
exposed to the wind in dry, cold weather. The occa- 
sional application of a little cold-cream, lip-salve, or any 
mild unguent will generally prevent them, and remove 
them when they have already formed. A still more 
elegant and effective preventive and remedy is glycerine, 
diluted with about twice its weight of eau-de-rose, or 
glycerinated lip-salve or balsam. 



'Unhappy man ! whom sorrow, thus, and rage, 
To different ills alternately engage ; 
Who drinks, alas ! but to forget — nor sees 
That melancholy, sloth, severe disease, 
Memory confused and interrupted thought 
Death's harbingers, lie latent in the draught." 



After dinner sit awhile ; after supper walk a mile 



THE PRESERVATION OF THE TEETH. 229 



THE PRESERVATION OF THE TEETH. 

The influence which the teeth are capable of exercising 
on the personal appearance is universally known and 
admitted. A beautiful set of teeth is one in which the 
teeth are compact, regular, smooth, and pearly white, 
and in which the front ones, at least, are moderately 
small. The teeth have formed especial objects of atten- 
tion, in connection with the toilet and cosmetic arts, 
from almost the earliest ages of the world to the present 
time. We are told that the ancients took particular care 
of their teeth, and kept them perfectly white by fre- 
quently rubbing them with a stick and woollen cloth. 
To prevent their premature decay, they scrupulously 
avoided acid liquids, and invariably abstained from all 
hot food and drink. During childhood and youth the 
teeth demand particular care and attention. Unfor- 
tunately, the teeth are either wholly neglected or very 
improperly treated by the mass of mankind, when their 
preservation should be an object of the utmost import- 
ance ; since, besides their immediate connection with 
the personal appearance; their integrity is highly sub- 
servient to health, owing to their use in preparing the 
food for the subsequent process of digestion. The 
subject deserves the serious consideration of every one. 
The rational management of the teeth consists, essen- 
tially, in thorough cleanliness, and the avoidance, as 
much as possible, of the use of beverages, condiments, 
and articles of food generally, that exert an injurious 
action on them, or on the gums. Among the substances 
referred to are all those of a sour, or acid, or corrosive 



230 THE PRESERVATION OF THE TEETH. 

nature, including acid piquant sauces, pickles, sour fruits 
and preserves, medicines containing acids. The use of 
hot food and liquids is also veiy prejudicial. 

Allowing particles of animal or vegetable food to 
remain in the interstices of the teeth, or in cracks or 
hollows in them, is particularly objectionable ; as the 
first, from the heat of the mouth in a short time gene- 
rate a rancid acrimony, and the other an acidity, which 
not merely render the breath offensive, but rapidly 
corrode the teeth. On the subject of cleanliness in 
connection with the teeth and mouth, it may be said 
that the mouth cannot be too frequently rinsed during 
the day, and that it should be more particularly so 
treated after every meal. Pure cold water is the best 
for the purpose. It not only cleans the teeth and 
mouth, but exerts a tonic action on the gums. The 
addition of a few drops of spirits of camphor, or essence 
of camphor, to the water thus employed, is highly 
serviceable, as camphor by its antiseptic properties tends 
to arrest decay, allay tenderness and pain, and correct 
the fetor of the breath. The operation of cleaning the 
teeth, like all other operations of the toilet, should be 
carefully performed, and in as effective a manner as 
possible. To do it well and thoroughly, the action of 
the tooth-brush should not be confined to the visible 
portion of the front teeth, but every portion of both 
upper and under teeth, back and front, and on the inner 
as well as the outer sides, night and morning, or after 
the principal meal of the day. 

As to tooth-powders or tooth-pastes little need be 
said. The simplest are the best. Plain camphorated 
chalk, with or without a little finely powdered pumice- 
stone. Burnt charcoal in very fine powder is another 



THE PRESERVATION OF THE TEETH. 231 

popular and excellent tooth-powder, which possesses the 
advantage of also removing the offensive odor arising 
from rotten teeth, and from decomposing organic matter^ 
Powdered Castile soap forms another simple tooth-powder, 
which, besides other excellent qualities, perhaps, ex- 
ceeds all other substances in its powers of destroying 
the minute beings or animalculae in the secretions of the 
mouth, whose skeletons or remains contribute, as we 
shall presently see, the incrustation popularly called 
" tartar." All refined, educated, and cleanly persons 
regard the operation of cleaning the teeth as a daily 
duty, as necessary as washing the face or hands ; the 
dirty and vulgar — the two words are here synonymous — 
wholly neglect it. As a further incentive to cleanliness 
and care of the teeth and mouth, it may be added that 
the mucus of the mouth commonly contains those 
microscopic creatures known as infusorial animalculae, 
and that, when foul, it is crowded with millions of them. 
And further, the fur or foul adhesive mucus of the 
tongue and the teeth, consists of the skeletons or dead 
remains of these minute beings compactly united into 
one mass by chemical decomposition. These animalcula? 
are most observable in the mouths of persons who 
neglect their teeth, and eat putrescible articles of food, 
or are in bad health. 



A woman may be of great assistance to her husband, 
in business, by wearing a cheerful smile continually upon 
hei countenance. A man's perplexities and gloominess 
air increased a hundred fold when his better half moves 
about with a continual scowl upon her brow. 



232 MAXIMS RELATING TO HEALTH. 



MAXIMS RELATING TO HEALTH. 

" The more a man follows nature, and is obedient to 
her laws, the longer he will live ; the further he deviates 
from them, the shorter will be his existence." 

" A man in perfect health ought always to rise from 
the table with some appetite ;" and " if either the 
body or the mind be less fit for action after eating than 
before, that is, if the man be less fit either for labor 
or study, he hath exceeded the quantity." 

" It may be laid down as a fundamental principle, that 
the more compounded any kind of food is, the more 
difficult it will be of digestion ; and what is still worse, 
the more corrupt will be the juices which are prepared 
from it." 

It is observed by an ingenious writer, that " they who 
least consult their appetite, who least give way to its 
wantonness or voraciousness, attain generally to years 
far exceeding those who deny themseves nothing they 
can relish and conveniently procure." And it has been 
remarked, in favor of temperance, that the "miserly, 
who eat but sparingly of plain food, and drink nothing 
but water, in general live long." 

It was indeed an ancient proverb, " he that is too poor 
to make a feast, and too obscure to be invited to the 
rich man's table, has the best chance for longevity." 

" Water is the most natural and wholesome of all 
drinks, it quickens the appetite, and strengthens the 
digestion most." 

Volney says, " cleanliness has a powerful influence on 
the health and preservation of the body. Cleanliness, 






MAXIMS RELATING TO HEALTH. 233 

as well in our garments as in our dwellings, prevents the 
pernicious effects of dampness, of bad smells, and of 
contagious vapors arising from substances abandoned to 
putrefy ; cleanliness keeps up a free perspiration, renews 
the air, refreshes the blood, and even animates and en- 
livens the mind. Hence we see that persons attentive 
to the cleanliness of their persons and their habitations, 
are generally more healthy, and less exposed to disease 
than those who live in filth and nastiness ; and it may, 
moreover, be remarked, that cleanliness brings with it, 
throughout every part of domestic discipline, habits of 
order and arrangement, which are among the first and 
best methods and elements of happiness." 



Eggs. 



Whenever eggs before you are displayed, 

Select the soft and those just newly laid. 

The Elder's daughter gives this rule to you, 

That eggs are best when white, and long, and new. 

These rules again observe; the best are borne 

By barnyard fowls, and laid at early morn. 

Drink after eggs will keep you strong and sound, 

E'en when the doctor is himself around. 

Goose eggs of little value are at best, 

And oftentimes not easy to digest. 

While those of other fowls in kind allied 

Are easy to digest, except when fried. 

With a fresh drink let each soft egg be followed; 

Should eggs be hard, then let two drinks be swallowed 

From Mich precautions may good health be borrowed. 



234 USEFULNESS OF SOAP. 



USEFULNESS OF SOAP. 

As some think that soap is not good for the skin, 
1 feel it my duty to refute such a mischievous and un- 
founded opinion. To keep the skin clean is a primary 
object for maintaining a due exercise of the functions, 
and it cannot be done without soap. The skin cannot 
be cleaned properly by either cold or warm bath without 
saponaceous friction. Cutaneous disorders have much 
occupied the faculty during latter years, the state of the 
skin is now considered a safe test of the state of our 
health ; and I am persuaded that the medical world will 
admit that plain water, whether cold or warm, salt or 
fresh, will not cleanse it sufficiently. If it be feared 
that common soap roughens the skin, there are prepared 
cakes at the perfumers, that are vouched to render it 
soft and delicate, and these will answer the main pur- 
pose equally well. 

When speaking of tenderness of the feet, I forgot to 
mention what I shall call soaping them. I do not know 
anything better, and I shall give one instance of its 
efficacy. The upper part of a man's foot, but chiefly the 
toes, became so tender, that he could not even bear a 
slipper. I recommended soap ; but he said that he could 
not use it, not being able to endure the slightest appli- 
cation. Determined to show him that it could easily be 
done, I made him put one foot in a shallow pan of tepid 
water; then taking his shaving-box and forming a 
plentiful lather, I laid it on gently, drawing the brush, 
occasionally, through the toes up and down. Aided by 
warm water, and keeping up a most abundant supply of 



USEFULNESS OF SOAP. 235 

lather, he soon felt such considerable relief, that he was 
able to use the soap himself in the ordinary way. Having 
literally covered his feet with it, he rubbed with his hand 
until he found all his soreness gone, and finally, after 
treating the other foot similarly, he was able to put on 
his boots and walk out. I have no doubt that soaping 
might prove very useful on many other occasions. 



The Rule Prescribed to Protract Life to Extreme Old 
Age. — The rule prescribed was not fasting, but abste- 
miousness ; to be often taking light nutriment, but such 
nutriment only in small quantity ; at the same time 
sufficient bodily exercise to keep the joints supple, and 
the fluids in motion. To retire at an early hour to bed, 
and to rise with the early lark. 

However irksome such a tie and restraint may be to 
the epicure — to such as eat to live, most certainly, when 
tempted with a variety of dishes, 'tis most salutary to 
eat of one dish only, and letting that, too, be a plain 
one ; to rise up from table before the appetite has been 
sated — to drink but little wine — not to eat flesh suppers, 
and to forbear from strong soups and high seasonings. 

Upon this subject, Mr. Addison makes the following 
observation : " When I behold a full table set out in all 
its n munificence, I fancy I see gout, colic, fevers, and 
lethargies lying in ambuscade among the dishes." 



A Sober Life.-— It is a shame- for man to have so many 
diseases; for a sober life produces sound health, while 
intemperance changes into deadly poison, even that 
which was designed to preserve life. 



236 children's parties and balls. 



CHILDREN'S PARTIES AND BALLS. 

Observations in relation to parties and balls given to 
children, " are a triple conspiracy against their innocence, 
their health, and their happiness. Thus, by factitious 
amusements to rob them of a relish for the simple joys, 
the unbought delights which naturally belong to their 
blooming season, is like blotting out spring from the year. 
While childhood preserves its natural simplicity, every 
little change is interesting — every gratification a luxury. 
A ride or walk will be a delightful recreation to a child 
in its natural state, but it will be dull and tasteless to a 
sophisticated little being, spoiled by these forced, costly, 
and vapid amusements. Alas ! that we should throw 
away this first grand opportunity of working into a 
practical habit the moral of this important truth, that 
the chief source of human discontent is to be looked for, 
not in our real, but in our factitious wants ; not in the 
demands of nature, but in the artificial cravings of de- 
sire. To behold Lilliputian coquettes projecting dresses, 
studying colors, assorting ribands and feathers — their 
little hearts beating with hopes about partners and fears 
of rivals, and to see their fresh cheeks pale after the 
midnight revel ; their aching heads and unbraced nerves 
disqualifying the little languid, beings for the next day's 
task, and to hear the grave apology, ' that it is owing to 
the cordial, the sweet-meats, the crowd, and the heated 
room of the last night's ball or party : ' all this, I say, 
would really be ridiculous, if the mischief of the thing 
did not take off from the merriment of it, as any of the 
ludicrous disproportions of the diverting travels of Captain 
Lemuel Gulliver." 






REAL ENJOYMENT. 237 



REAL ENJOYMENT. 

Health cannot be estimated at too high a rate. 
Persons, however, there are, who conceive that to obtain 
it, they must submit to an abridgment of comforts, and 
make a sacrifice of pleasures — but in this they are 
entirely mistaken : were they to adopt the methods 
necessary to secure this inestimable treasure, they would 
find that instead of their comforts being abridged, or 
their pleasures impaired, they will obtain an addition to 
both, which, previously, they neither knew nor antici- 
pated, and be relieved from many annoyances attendant 
on modern indulgences and irregularities. Not only 
would they soon become reconciled to their new course 
of life, but would become sensible of the vexatious errors 
by which they had so long been governed, while for any 
trifling sacrifices they would be called upon to make, 
they would be amply compensated by the tranquillity, 
ease, and happiness resulting from their new mode of life, 
independent of the increased relish they would acquire 
for every moment of existence. It is not necessary, in 
order to insure a continuance of health, to impose upon 
any one such rigid rules, that by an adherence to them, 
life would be deprived of all its enjoyments, by the 
feelings and tastes being subjected to unnecessary morti- 
fications — on the contrary, it is only necessary to be 
strictly temperate in all things ; and by that means to 
substitute for the fleeting pleasures which are invariably 
succeeded by disgust, pain, or remorse, those of a higher 
and more lasting character — never cloying, and which, 
when once tasted will never afterwards be relinquished. 



238 REAL ENJOYMENT. 

Thus, could an individual exert sufficient courage to 
overcome the prejudices in favor of modern customs, and 
regulate his mode of living by the simple demands of 
nature, he would soon discover that temperance alone is 
real epicurism. 



A Child Ruined by his Mother. — We have before us 
a letter from a highly respectable physician of this city, 
to a distinguished philanthropist, in which is given the 
distressing details of a case of mania d potu, in a young 
man, about twenty years of age. The cause of the dis- 
ease of the youth is referred, by the physician, to the 
habit of the mother, who administered to the patient, 
when he was an infant, small quantities of ardent spirits, 
with a view of correcting internal weakness ; and this 
early sip of the poison, infused into his nutriment, pro- 
duced a fondness for it that was never conquered, and 
which will probably be indulged until the powers of 
physical resistance are destroyed, and the poor wretch 
dies a drunkard. 



The secret of dressing lies in simplicity, and a certain 
adaptation to your figure, your rank, your circumstances. 
To dress well on these principles — and they are the only 
just ones — does not require that extravagant attention 
to so trivial an object, as is usually exhibited by persons 
who make the toilet a study. 



No treasury is large enough to supply indiscriminate 
profusion ; and scarcely any purse is too scanty for the 
uses of life, when managed by a careful hand. 



HINTS ON HEALTH. 239 



HINTS OX HEALTH. 



" A man has but these four things to choose out of — 
to exercise daily, to be very temperate, to take physic, 
or to be sick." We may venture to assert, with a much 
later writer, that the principal secrets of health, are 
early rising, exercise, personal cleanliness, and leaving 
the table unoppressed. 

When the family rises early in the morning conclude 
the house to be well governed, and the inmates industri- 
ous and healthy. 

With respect to exercise, there is a simple and benevo- 
lent law of nature — " earn that you may enjoy." In other 
words, secure a good digestion by exercise. As much, 
perhaps, may be said concerning ablution as exercise. 
"Dispel the ill humors from the pores." Cleanliness is 
a virtue, though not the first in rank, one of the first, 
at least, in necessity. 

On the subject of temperance, that sturdy moralist, 
Johnson, speaking of a book in which it was recom- 
mended, observed, " Such a book should come out every 
thirty years, dressed in the mode of the times." "He 
that would eat much," says the proverb, "must eat little."* 
Let us not, however, confound temperance witli starva- 
tion — on the contrary, it is strictly moderation. We 
may be intemperately abstemious, as well as intempe- 
rately luxurious. 

From all that has been said and written on the subject 
— from the experience of every age and every clime, we 
may conclude that " they are the most healthy who have 
nature for their cook, hunger for their caterer: who 
have no doctor but the sun and fresh air — and no other 
physic than temperance and exercise." 



240 BRAN BREAD. 



BEAN BREAD. 

That our readers, may not accuse us of withholding 
all kinds of receipts for wonder-working mixtures, we 
give them subjoined. The following are for making bran 
bread, which, to many of them, is known as an excellent 
article of diet in certain cases of dyspepsia. 

First Receipt. — To four pounds of the best household 
flour put two tablespoonfuls of small-beer yeast, and 
half pint of warm water; let it stand two hours in a 
warm place, about four feet from the fire ; then add half 
a pound of bran, and a teaspoonful of salt, and proceed 
to make the dough with skim milk or warm water ; then 
cover it up as before, and let it stand one hour more : 
then begin to heat the oven, which will require one hour. 
Make your loaves and put them into warm dishes, and 
let them stand twenty minutes before you put them into 
the oven. This sized loaf will require an hour to bake. 
When you draw your bread turn it bottom upwards; 
next morning it will be fit for use. You should, have 
it fresh every fourth day. The color of the wheat is- of 
no importance, nor is patent yeast. Bread thus pre- 
pared is said to be greatly preferable to that made with 
flour, ground, and all the bran kept in it. 



Second Receipt. — Cause the wheat to be ground, 
retaining the whole of the bran; take half a peck of 
such flour, and put it in a suitable vessel (wooden is 
best) ; mix a quarter of a pint of small-beer yeast to a 
quart of lukewarm water ; put this in the middle of the 
flour, and stir it well with a wooden spoon until it is a 



BRAN BREAD. 241 

thick batter; the flour remaining on the edges of the 
vessel unmixed sprinkle over the top; then cover the 
vessel with a napkin and set it before the fire, about 
three feet distant, to remain there two hours until it 
rises Avell ; then take it up, and strew over it a table- 
spoonful of salt, and make the whole into a stiff paste ; 
before this is done add a little more warm water if 
requisite; then put it down to the fire until it rises 
again, which will probably occupy from half an hour to 
an hour ; when it has risen again thoroughly, take it up, 
knead it into a dough. This quantity is sufficient for 
four loaves. Put it into tins and set it again before the 
fire, until it rises a little, and it is then ready for the 
oven. It requires to be thoroughly well baked. Ready 
for use second day. It is necessary to request the person 
who grinds the wheat to cause the bran to be ground as 
fine as possible. 

If a little moist sugar and powdered caraway seeds 
are added to the above, it makes a wholesome sweet 
cake. 



Zimmerman, author of the well-known work on " Soli- 
tude," and physician to Frederick the Great, of Prussia, 
tells us, in his excellent " Treatise on Experience in Gene- 
ral," and especially in the " Healing Art," chapter " On 
Drinks," that soft water is the most suitable drink for 
man, since fermented liquors are rather the product of 
art than of nature. He states the disorders which may 
be raused by drinking bad water, and mentions some of 
the means of rendering it pure. Water does not, he 
tells us, chill the ardor of genius. He then instances 
Demosthenes, whose sole drink was water. 
16 



242 USEFUL RECEIPTS. 



USEFUL RECEIPTS. 

Lemonade Powder. — Acid of tartar one ounce ; sugar 
six ounces ; essence of lemon 3ij ; rub them together 
and divide them into twenty-four packets. 

Another Lemonade Powder. — Concrete acid of lemons 
one ounce ; sugar four ounces ; essence of lemon 3ij ; 
mix and divide as above. 

Ginger Beer Powder. — White sugar in powder fifty 
grains; ginger five grains in each blue paper; acid of 
tartar twenty grains in white. 

Toast and Water. — Toast the bread quite hard through 
and through; brown it well, and pour filtered boiling 
water upon it ; let it stand till quite cold, and pour it 
gently off; for if it stands till the bread dissolves it gets 
thick and mawkish. A little lemon zest, or nutmeg and 
sugar, is very grateful in it, or whatever else an invalid 
may desire ; but toast and water ought to be a constant 
table and family drink, laying economy aside, upon 
account of health, and the best for bilious constitutions. 

Barley Water. — Wash two ounces, and put it upon 
the fire, with half a pint of water ; boil it a few minutes, 
strain, and put on it five pints of water ; boil it to a half; 
strained when it is ready ; to be seasoned to taste. 

Wine Whey. — A quart of milk, a pint of water ; boil, 
and add half a pint of white wine. 



USEFUL RECEIPTS. 243 

Isinglass Flummery, very Strengthening. — Dissolve, 
without boiling, two ounces of isinglass in a pint of 
water ; add an equal quantity of white wine, with the 
juice and zest of two lemons; sweeten; beat the yolks, 
stirring all the time ; pour it into a basin, and stir till 
cold; put it into a mould, pots, or glasses, or color it 
greenish, and put into a melon or grape mould. 

Isinglass Flummery. — Dissolve the same quantity of 
isinglass, or boil two ounces of hartshorn-shavings in a 
pint of cream, sweeten, and add two spoonfuls of orange- 
flower water, or some drops of any essence or lemon zest; 
sweeten, stir till cold, and dish. 

Strengthening Flummery for Invalids. — Take very 
strong cow-heel jelly; add equal parts of white wine; 
season with lemon-juice, zest, and sugar; to each pint of 
flummery add three very fresh yolks; beat well, and 
heat it over a stove, stirring constantly ; dish and stir it 
till cold, and put it into .cups or glasses. 



Pure Water. — Haller, the poet, physiologist, and 
natural historian, and a most voluminous and distin- 
guished writer, both recommended and practised tem- 
perance. He drank, himself, nothing but water. 



How to live Long. — An old man, on being asked how 
lie had lived to attain so great an age, replied, "When 
I could sit, I never stood; I married late, was soon a 
widower, and never married again." 



244 MEDICAL ITEMS. 



MEDICAL ITEMS. 

Mode of giving Cod-liver Oil mixed ivith Lime-water. 
— By beginning with five drops three times a day, in- 
creasing the doses by one or two drops daily, we have 
succeeded in reaching half ounce doses in patients who 
had abandoned the remedy as impracticable. The lime- 
water should be added in quantity just sufficient to form 
a soap. In some cases glycerin, or a small portion of 
morphia or acetic tincture of opium, is effectual. 

Compound Spirits of Lavender. — Take lavender 
flowers, nutmeg, mace, cloves, cinnamon, of each two 
drachms. Pulverize and add a quart of spirits. Digest 
for one week, and filter. A very pleasant aromatic 
stomachic, in doses of one or two teaspoonfuls. 

Bismuth Snuff for a Cold in the Head. (Coryza.) — 
The following is used. 

Subnitrate of bismuth, four parts. 

Liquorice powder, eighty parts. 

Iodide of sulphur, thirty parts. 

Mix. Of this compound, the patient is to take ten to twelve pinches in 
the day according to their effect. 

For Obstinate Vomiting. R. Ten-grain doses of sulphate of magnesia 
in half an ounce of water every half hour. 

Mix. A dernier resort, which has never yet failed me. 

The Ague Cure. — To one quart of good Madeira wine, 
add one ounce Peruvian bark, one ounce fine cloves, 
one ounce cream of tartar, and one-half ounce of fine 
bay berry. The dose is a wineglass ful three or four 



MEDICAL ITEMS. 245 

times a day, after having first cleansed the stomach well 
with an emetic. 

For Tetter, Ringworm, or Erysipelas on the Face. — It 
is said that half a pint of clean oats, stewed in a quart 
of good vinegar down to half a pint, rubbed on the face 
often through the day, and the face washed with Castile 
soap every morning, will, properly applied, cure the most 
inveterate redness arising from the above forms of 
disease, in a short time. 

Ointment for Warts. — The following prescription for 
an ointment is strongly recommended for the destruction 
of warts. 

R. Potassa Chromatis, 2 grains. 

Adipis, 1 drachm. 

Mix. Directions. — The excrescences should be rubbed with this prepara- 
tion twice daily, and in the space of three or four weeks the most inveterate 
varicose productions are said to be entirely removed. 

Dental Ancesthetic. — 

Tincture of aconite, one ounce. 

Chloroform, one ounce. 

Alcohol, one ounce. 

Morphia, six grains. 

Mix. To prevent the pain of extraction, and destroy sensibility in the 
gums by local application 

Directions. — Moisten two pledgets of cotton with the liquid and apply to 
the gums, for a minute or two, over the tooth to be extracted. 

Itch. — I have found the external application of chloro- 
form useful in itch. It kills the insect, and, by pro- 
ducing anaesthesia, relieves the irritability of the skin. 



246 MEDICAL ITEMS. 

Asthma. — The following I recommend: — 

R. Potass, iodic!., 31J (two drachms). 

Ext. lobelia fluid., f 3J (one ounce). 

Water, f^xv (fifteen ounces). 

Make into a solution. 
Directions. — A tablespoonful to a wineglassful three times daily. 

Hooping- Cough. — The following is advised for this 
disease : — 

R. Acid, hydrocyan., gtt. vj (drops six). 

Ext. belladonna, grs. ij (grains two). 

Tinct. opii camph., giij (drachms three). 

Syr. bals. tolu, ^j (ounce one). 

Aq. font., s iij (ounces three). 
Mix. Directions. — One teaspoonful four times daily, and also in the 
nightly paroxysms. 

Cancer. — According to M. Delreyne, soot, in the form 
of ointment (lard or glycerine, and soot, of each sixty 
parts, extract of belladonna eight parts) or lotion, is the 
best and most efficacious local application for open cancer. 



Affection of the Female Breasts. — The following 
recommended for abrasions of the nipple : — 

R. Cerat, alb., £ij (two ounces). 

01. amyg. dulc, 3j (one drachm). 

Mel desputum, §ss (half-ounce). 

Mix. Dissolve with gentle heat, and add 

Bals. Canad., ^ijss (two drachms and a half). 

Apply each time of nursing. 

For ulcerations the following are advised : — 

R. Sodse subborat, £ss (half-drachm). 

Glycerin, 3ij (two drachms). 

Aq. rosae, f5Jss (one ounce and a half). 
Mix. Use as a wash to the part. 



MEDICAL ITEMS. 247 

Also, 

R. Sodse subborat., £ij (two drachms). 

Cretse praep., §iij (three ounces). 

Spt. vin., ^iij (three ounces). 

Aq. rosse, f^iij (three ounces). 

Mix and dissolve. This may be used when the ulcer becomes indolent. 

Dysentery. — The following formula for dysentery is 
recommended : — 

R. Glauber salts, §j (one ounce). 

AYater, f Jiij (three ounces). 

Nitric acid, 

Muriatic acid, of each f^i (one drachm). 

Alum, 9 ss (half scruple). 

Mix. Directions. — A large tablespoonful occasionally. 

Sleeplessness. — The following formula is recom- 
mended : — 

R. Assafcetida, £j (one drachm). 

Sulphate of morphia, gr. iij (three grains). 

Make 30 pills. 

Directions. — One or two at bedtime. 

From two to four of these pills daily are of great use in relieving the dry 
cough to which nervous women with irregular menstruation are liable. 

Bad Breath. — The following mixture is recommended 
for this disagreeable affection, which so often arises from 
slight stomach disorder: — 

R. Chlorate of potash, ^ss (half ounce). 

Sweetened water, foi y (four ounces). 

Mix. Directions. — A teaspoonful three hours after breakfast, and the 
mouth occasionally washed with it. 

Sick Headache. — The following formula is recom- 
mended for sick headache : — 

R. Granulated muriate of ammonia, one teaspoonful. 
Morphia acet., gr. j (one grain). 

Wulcr, Bss (half pound). 

Mix. Directions. — Dose for an adult, two teaspoonfuls every ten minutes 
iy) till relief is obtained. 



248 MEDICAL ITEMS. 

Formula for Podophyllum,. — The griping effects of 
podophyllum resin may be readily obviated by com- 
bining it with small doses of extract of hyoscyamus. 
The following is a good formula for podophyllum pills, 
sometimes sold under the name of "Aperative Seeds" or 
"Castor-oil Pills": — 

R. Res. podophyll., 

Ext, hyoscyaca., of each gr. iij (three grains). 

Sapon. dur., gr. ivss (four and a half grains). 

Syrupi, gtt. vj (six drops). 

M. ft. pil. xii. in arg. fol. 
Directions. — One or two every night at bedtime in constipation. 

For Dyspepsia : — 

R. Ferri sulphatis, jj. 

Extract gentian, q. s. 

ut fiat raassa, et divide in pilulas xxx. 
Directions. — To be taken morning, noon, and night. 

For Dyspepsia. — 

R. Bismuth, subnitratis, 3j. 

Mucilaginis acacia, q. s. ut fiant pilulae xxx. 

Directions. — To be taken every two hours. 

For Scrofulous Diathesis. — In cases of ulcerations, 
and of purulent discharges from the ear, use the follow- 



R. Tinct. iodinii, f^j. 

Mucilag. acac, fgij. 

Aqua destill., fgvj. 

Ft. mistura. Signa. — A tablespoonful every two hours. 

For Scrofulous and Scirrhous Diseases : — 

R. Iodinii, J)j. 

Potassii iodidi, gij. 

Aqua destill., Svij. 

Fiat solutio. — Dose, six drops, morning and evening, in a wineglass of 



MEDICAL ITEMS. 249 

For Infants : — 

Take of cow's milk, one part. 

Water, two parts. 

Loaf sugar, as muck as may be agreeable. 
It is necessary, wbeu cbildren are to be raised by tbe hand, to dilute the 
milk. These proportions may be altered as the child advances in age. The 
object is to make a diet as near the qualities of the maternal milk as 



Lead Colic is a disease to which painters, and workers 
in red and white lead, are subject, causing severe pains, 
tedious sickness, and often death. The disease is par- 
ticularly owing perhaps to breathing the fumes, but 
mainly from particles taken into the stomach by the 
food which is handled. Workmen can effect a total 
exemption from the disease by attending rigidly to three 
things : — 

First. Keep the finger nails trimmed closely, so as to 
prevent particles of lead from collecting under them, and 
transference to the bread in eating it. 

Second. Wash the hands well with soap and water, 
and rinse the mouth before eating. 

Third. Drink half a pint of sweet milk at each meal 
to antagonize the influence of any particles of lead which 
may find their way into the stomach. It has been found 
in thousands of cases, that an habitual attention to these 
things secures an entire exemption from lead colic. 

Hordeolum, or Stye. — This is a small painful tumor 
that appears upon the edge of the eyelids, and is usually 
the result of an unhealthy condition of the glands. 
When it first appears, it can usually be arrested by 
touching it once or twice a day with tincture of iodine 
or a solution of nitrate of silver. When it has advanced 
so as to pass on to suppuration, the best treatment is to 
apply slippery-elm poultice, keeping it wet with tincture 
of lobelia. 



250 MEDICAL ITEMS. 

Bunions. — A bunion is an inflammation of the bursae 
mucosa, at the inside of the ball of the great toe, and is 
generally produced by wearing tight boots or shoes. It 
can easily be cured by wearing a large, loose shoe or 
boot, and applying pads of cold water, covered with 
oiled silk, for a few days, until the inflammation is sub- 
dued ; then painting the part with the officinal tincture 
of iodine once or twice a week. 

Pernio, or Chilblain. — This is an inflammation of the 
derma or skin, produced by an excess of heat or cold ; 
usually accompanied by itching, tingling, and sometimes 
painful swelling of the part. The skin is bluish or 
purple, and in some cases ulceration occurs. The best 
treatment that has been found for this is, to bathe the 
part in equal parts of lime-water and sweet-oil, and ten 
drops of creasote to an ounce of the mixture. This 
should be applied in the morning and evening, or upon 
retiring. Glycerine and tannin should also be used — 
one drachm of tannin dissolved in one ounce of glycerine. 
If it be on the feet and prove troublesome, silk stockings 
should be worn under the cotton ones. 

Expectation of Life. — Mr. Charles W. Willick, of 
London, has established an extremely easy rule for ex- 
pressing the value of the property which every man, 
woman, and child possesses in life. His formula stands 
thus : — 

e = f(80-a); 
that is, " the expectation of life is equal to two-thirds of 
the difference between the age of the party and 80." 
Thus, say a man is twenty, two-thirds of the years be- 
tween 20 and 80 are 40, therefore forty is the expecta- 



MEDICAL ITEMS. 251 

tion of life. A man now sixty will have an expectation 
of fourteen years more ; a child of five will have an ex- 
pectation of fifty, and so on. The results obtained by 
this new law correspond closely with those of Dr. Farr's 
English life tables, constructed from an immense mass of 
returns. 

Effects of Tea on the System. — All writers agree in 
saying that the brain-workers, in all the years since tea 
was introduced, have regarded it with the highest favor. 
It has a power to subdue irritability, refresh the spirits, 
and renew the energies, such as is possessed by no other 
agent. When the system of man is exhausted by labor 
or study, a cup of tea invigorates and restores as no other 
form of food or beverage can. It is also promotive of 
longevity. Tea saves food by lessening the waste of the 
body, soothes the vascular system, and affords stimulus 
to the brain. The young do not need it, and it is worthy 
of note that they do not crave or like it. Children will 
frequently ask for coffee, but seldom for tea. To aged 
people, whose powers, of digestion and whose bodily 
substance have to fail together, it is almost a necessity. 

Asthma. — Two cases have been cured of asthma of 
long standing, where the patients had renounced all hope 
of benefit from drugs, by the use of bromide of potassium 
in full doses, night and morning. 

Bromide of Potassium. — A writer asserts that the 
bromide of potassium produces most excellent results in 
allaying the morning sickness of pregnancy. Take bro- 
mide of potassium, half an ounce, water four ounces, of 
which a dessert spoonful should be given every two 
hours. Three doses will frequently allay nausea. 



252 OPHTHALMIA, OR INFLAMMATION OF THE EYES. 



OPHTHALMIA, OR INFLAMMATION OF THE 
EYES. 

This disease may be occasioned by external injuries: 
as blows, burns, bruises, and the like. It may likewise 
proceed from dust, quick-lime, or other substances, 
getting into the eyes. Long exposure to the night air, 
especially in cold northerly winds, or whatever checks 
suddenly the perspiration, is very apt to cause an inflam- 
mation of the eyes ; viewing snow, or other white 
bodies, for a long time, or looking steadfastly at the sun. 
Sometimes an inflammation of the eyes proceeds from 
scrofulous or gouty habit. It may likewise be occasioned 
by hairs in the eyelids turning upwards. In children 
it often proceeds from imprudently drying up scabbed 
heads, a running behind the ears, or any other dis- 
charge of the kind. 

Symptoms. — An inflammation of the eyes is attended 
with acute pain, heat, redness, and swelling. The 
patient is not able to bear the light, and sometimes he 
feels a pricking pain, as if his eyes were pierced with a 
thorn. Sometimes he imagines his eyes are full of motes, 
or thinks he sees flies dancing before him. 

Regimen. — The diet, unless in scrofulous cases, can 
never be too spare, especially at the beginning; consist- 
ing chiefly of mild vegetables, weak broths, and gruels. 
His drink may be barley-water, balm-tea, common whey, 
and such like. The patient's chamber must be darkened, 
or his eyes shaded by a cover so as to exclude the light, 
but not to press upon the eyes. He should avoid all 
smoke, fumes of tobacco, or anything that may cause 



OPHTHALMIA, OR INFLAMMATION OF THE EYES. 253 

coughing, sneezing, or vomiting. He should be kept 
quiet, and encourage sleep as much as possible. 

Medical Treatment. — This is one of those diseases 
wherein great hurt is often done by external applications. 
Almost every person pretends to be possessed of a remedy 
for the cure of sore eyes, consisting of eye-water, oint- 
ments, which do mischief twenty times for once they do 
good. People ought, therefore, to be very cautious how 
they use such things. Leeches are often applied to the 
temples, or under the eyes, with good effect. The 
wounds must be suffered to bleed for some hours, and if 
the bleeding stop soon, it may be promoted by the appli- 
cation of cloths dipped in warm water. Opening medi- 
cines are not to be neglectedT The patient may take a 
small dose of Epsom salts and cream of tartar every 
second or third day, or any other mild purgative will 
answer the same end. To abate the inflammation it is 
customary to have recourse to the frequent application 
of some cooling and astringent wash. Such remedies, 
applied to the eye by means of an eye-cup, or by wet 
pledgets, prove highly serviceable. Any of the under 
mentioned may, therefore, be used; and where the pain 
is very acute, forty or fifty drops of tincture of opium or 
laudanum may be added to any of them. For the pur- 
pose of allaying heat and inflammation of the eyes, some 
practitioners give preference to warm instead of cold. 
The fact is, inflammations are known to yield sometimes 
to cold, and sometimes to warm fomentations ; the alter- 
nate use of cold and hot applications has sometimes "suc- 
ceeded when neither of them singly appeared capable 
of putting an end to the diseased action. When the 
heat and pain of. the eyes are very great, a poultice of 
bread and milk, softened with sweet oil or fresh butter, 



254 OPHTHALMIA, OR INFLAMMATION OF THE EYES. 

may be applied to them at least all night, and they may 
be bathed with lukewarm milk and water in the morning. 
The application of cold water to the eyes, immersing 
the face in cold water, or by means of an eye-cup, two 
or three times a day, is serviceable in preventing return. 
Tonics may be taken with the best effects, sea-bathing, 
etc., etc. 

R. Alum three grains; rose-water one ounce. M. 
After bathing the eyes with a teaspoonful of fine salt in 
a teacupful of tepid water for five minutes, three times 
a day, open the lids and pour in a few drops of the 
lotion, in simple cases. 

B. Sulphate of zinc, acetate of lead, of each eight 
grains ; rose-water six ounces. Mix them for an eye- 
wash. 

R. Any foreign body lodged in the eye may be ex- 
peditiously removed by passing a small hair-pencil be- 
tween the eyelids and the ball of the eye. 



Expense of Ardent Spirits. — A farmer in Connecticut, 
who has occupied the same farm, on lease, for about 
thirty years past, was lately complaining that he had 
been able to lay up nothing from his thirty years' labor. 
A neighboring storekeeper offered to explain to him the 
reason ; and proceeded as follows ; " During the thirty 
years that you have been on that farm, I have been 
trading in this store, and the distilled spirits I have sold 
you, with the interest of the money, would have made 
you the owner of the farm you hire." On examination 
of the books of the storekeeper, his assertion was found 
correct. The farm was worth about five thousand 
dollars. 



CAUSES OF DISEASE. 255 



CAUSES OF DISEASE. 

A late fashionable physician, who, for some years, 
received fees to the amount of about twenty thousand 
pounds annually, endeavored, during the last three years, 
to ascertain the primary sources of the diseases to which 
he was principally indebted for his wealth. After com- 
paring the memorandums of each year, he made the fol- 
lowing as an average calculation : — 

Theatres and hackney-coaches 1600 

Indulgence in wine, spirits, and smoking . . . 1300 

Indolence 1000 

Sudden changes in the atmosphere .... 1200 

Prevalence of the north or east winds . . . 1800 

Force of imaginations 1500 

Gluttony 1300 

Quack medicines 900 

Love 750 

Grief 850 

Unsuccessful gambling 900 

Contagion . 900 

Study 950 

Reading novels 450 

" Of these real friends of the physician," he adds, " I am 
more indebted to the theatres and hackney-coaches than 
any other, because the diseases they occasion are inflam- 
mation of internal parts, which is not soon reduced, and 
often terminates in chronic diseases, as pulmonary con- 
si i n i ption and rheumatism. To Fancy, I do not feel much 
indebted, because the patients are very far from being 
pleasant ones to attend; indeed, I had rather have been 
without them. The north, east, and northeast winds 
always add considerably to my list of patients. 



256 CAUSES OF DISEASE. 

" Gluttony, and abuse of wine, ale, and smoking are ex- 
cellent friends, because they are constantly acting for me. 
Quack medicines are sincere friends, because they amuse 
the minds of the restless hypochondriacs, and convert 
acute diseases into chronic. Gambling occasions nervous 
affections, which reflection cures. The south and west 
winds are also good friends, as they add to my reputa- 
tion by curing many diseases. Love and grief, although 
perfect strangers to me, are, nevertheless, sincere friends." 



Anger. — The intoxication of anger, like that of the 
grape, shows us to others, but hides us from ourselves ; 
and we injure our own cause, in the opinion of the world, 
when we too passionately and eagerly defend it. Neither 
will all men be disposed to view our quarrels precisely 
in the same light that we do ; and a man's blindness to 
his own defects will ever increase in proportion as he is 
angry with others, or pleased with himself. 



Death-bed Repentance. — A death-bed repentance is a 
dangerous speculation ; 'tis true, the thief on the cross 
was forgiven at the last hour, but it was intended as a 
singular instance, that none might despair — a solitary 
one, that none might presume. 



" I suppose," said a quack, while feeling the pulse of 
a patient, " that you think me a humbug." " Sir," re- 
plied the sick man, " I see you can perceive a man's 
thoughts by his pulse." 



LONGEVITY OF GREAT MEN. 



257 



LONGEVITY OF GREAT MEN. 



The following short list of the ages of distinguished 
men may be interesting to the reader in this place ; for a 
more complete catalogue, arranged according to the 
classes of science and literature upon which they shed 
their light, he is referred to Madden's " Infirmities of 
Genius." 



Tasso . 

Virgil . 

Shakspeare 

Moliere 

Dante . 

Pope 

Ovid . 

Horace . 

Racine 

Kepler 

Demosthenes 

Lavater 

Galvani 

Boccaccio 

Fenelon 

Aristotle 

Cuvier 

Milton 

Rousseau 

Erasmus 

Cervantes 

Beaumarchais 

Dryden 

Petrarch 

Lesage 

Linnaeus 

Locke . 

La Fontaine 

Km del 

Reaumur 

Kuler . 

17 



51 


Bacon . 


78 


52 


Galileo . 


78 


52 


Swift 


78 


53 


Roger Bacon 


78 


56 


Corneille 


78 


56 


Marmontel . 


79 


57 


Kant . 


80 


57 


Thucydides . 


80 


59 


Juvenal 


80 


59 


Wieland 


80 


59 


Young . 


80 


60 


Plato . 


81 


61 


Buffon . 


81 


62 


Goethe . 


82 


63 


Claude . 


82 


63 


West . 


82 


64 


Franklin 


84 


66 


Metastasio . 


84 


66 


Herschel 


84 


69 


Anacreon 


85 


69 


Newton 


85 


69 


Yoltaire 


85 


70 


Halley . 


86 


70 


Sophocles 


90 


70 


Leeuwenhoeck 


91 


71 


Hans Sloanes 


93 


73 


Winston 


95 


74 


Michael Angclo 


. 96 


75 


Titian . 


96 


75 


Herodias 


100 


77 


Fontenelle . 


100 




Georgius 


107 



258 LONGEVITY OF GREAT MEN. 

But poets and artists, in short all those fortunate mor- 
tals whose principal occupation leads them to be conver- 
sant with the sports of fancy and self-created worlds, and 
whose whole life, in the properest sense, is an agreeable 
dream, have a particular claim to a place in the history 
of longevity. We have already seen to what a great 
age Anacreon, Sophocles, and Pindar attained. Young, 
Voltaire, Bodmer, Haller, Metastasio, Gleim, Utz, and 
Oeser, all lived to be very old; and I here natter myself 
with the hope, and I shall no doubt be joined in my wish 
by every one of my readers, that Wieland, the prince of 
the German poets, may afford the newest confirmation 
of this position. 



" The best drink is water, a liquor commonly despised 
and even considered as prejudicial. I will not hesitate, 
however, to declare it to be one of the greatest means for 
prolonging life. B,ead what is said of it by that re- 
spectable veteran, Mr. Theden, surgeon-general, who 
ascribed his long life, of more than eighty years, chiefly 
to the daily use of seven or eight quarts (from twenty 
to twenty-four pounds) of fresh water, which he drank 
upwards of forty years. Between his thirtieth and for- 
tieth year, he was a most miserable hypochondriac, op- 
pressed with the deepest melancholy ; tormented with a 
palpitation of the heart, indigestion, etc. ; and imagined 
that he could not live six months. But from the time 
he began this water regimen, all these symptoms disap- 
peared ; and in the latter half of his life he enjoyed better 
health than before, and was perfectly free from the hypo- 
chondriac affection." 



RULES FOR A YOUNG LADY. 259 



RULES FOR A YOUNG LADY. 

1st. Let her go to bed at ten o'clock — nine, if she 
pleases. She must not grumble, or be disheartened 
because she may not sleep the first night or two, and 
thus lay ruminating on the pleasures from which she 
has cut herself off; but persist steadily for a few nights ; 
when she will find that habit will produce a far more 
pleasant repose than that which follows a late ball, a 
rout, or assembly. She will, also, rise in the morning 
more refreshed, with better spirits, and a more blooming 
complexion. 

2d. Let her rise about six o'clock in summer, and 
about eight in winter — immediately wash her face and 
hands with pure water — cool or tepid, according to the 
season of the year ; and if she could by any means be 
induced to sweep her room, or bustle about some other 
domestic concerns for about an hour, she would be the 
gainer, as well in health as in beauty, by the practice. 

3d. Her breakfast should be something more sub- 
stantial than a cup of slops, whether denominated tea 
or coffee, and a thin slice of bread and butter. She 
should take a soft-boiled egg or two, a little cold meat, 
a draught of milk, or a cup or two of pure chocolate. 

4th. She should not lounge all day by the fire, read- 
ing novels,, nor indulge herself in thinking of the perfidy 
of false swains, or the despair of a pining damsel ; but 
bustle about — walk or ride in the open air — rub the 
furniture, or make puddings — and when she feels hungry 
cat a custard or something equally light, in place of the 
fashionable morning treat of a slice of pound-cake, and 
a <Hass of wine or cordial. 



/ 

260 RULES FOR A YOUNG LADY. 

5th. Let her dine upon mutton or beef plainly cooked, 
and not too fat — but she need not turn away occasion- 
ally from a fowl or anything equally good ; let her only 
observe to partake of it in moderation, and to drink 
sparingly of water during the repast. 

6th. In place of three or four cups of strong tea for 
supper she may eat a custard — a bowl of bread and 
milk — or similar articles, and in a few hours afterwards 
let her retire to bed. 

7th. At other periods of the day which are unoccupied 
by business or exercise, let her read — no sickly love 
tales — but good-humored and instructive works — calcu- 
lated, while they keep the mind unencumbered with 
heavy thoughts, to augment its store of ideas, and to 
guard it against the injury which will ever result from 
false perceptions of mankind and of the concerns of life. 



Mothers, can you not teach your children the art of 
doing good ? It is only to aid, by your example as well 
as precepts, the development of the noblest faculties of 
your children — the affections, reason, conscience; while 
you repress, as much as possible, the selfishness of ani- 
mal instinct of appetite. Begin early. — You have the 
key of their affections — open their little hearts only to 
sweet impressions of love, which is benevolence. Never 
hire them with money to perform their tasks of any kind. 
If you have managed them rightly, they will do your 
requirements for you because they love you. Give gifts 
to your children as often as you think best ; but never 
pay them for being good. Let the consciousness that 
they have done good, have gained knowledge, and that 
you approve their conduct, be their reward. 



ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE FOOD. 261 



ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE FOOD. 

It is amusing to hear a nervous female, whose daily 
exercise consists in going up and down stairs two or 
three times a day, and shopping once a week, complain 
that she cannot preserve her strength unless she eats 
freely of some kind of meat, and takes her twice daily 
potations of strong coffee, to say nothing of porter or 
wine sangaree. The same opinion prevails among all 
classes of our community. A child (in the arms) cannot, 
it is thought, thrive unless it have a leg of a chicken or 
piece of bacon in its fist to suck. A boy or girl going 
to school must be gorged with the most substantial ali- 
ment at dinner, and, perhaps, little less at breakfast and 
supper. The child is crying and screaming every hour 
in the day — has, after a while, convulsions, or obstinate 
diseases of the skin, or dropsy of the brain. The little 
personage going to school complains of headache, is 
fretful and unhappy, and becomes pale and feeble. The 
poor books are now blamed for the fault of the dishes, 
and school is given up. The doctor is next consulted 
on the best means of restoring strength to the dear crea- 
ture that has lost its appetite, and can eat nothing but 
a little cake, or custard, or, at most, some fat broth. 
Should he tell the fond mother the unpalatable truth, 
and desire her to suspend the system of stuffing, and 
allow her child, for sole food, a little bread and milk 
diluted with water, and daily exercise in the open air, 
she will be heard exclaiming in a tone of mingled 
astonishment and reproach, "Why doctor, would you 
starve my child !" 



262 ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE FOOD. 

For the information of all such misguided persons, we 
would beg leave to state that the large majority of man- 
kind do not eat any animal food, or so sparingly, and at 
such long intervals, that it cannot be said to form their 
nourishment. Millions in Asia are sustained by rice 
alone, with perhaps a little vegetable oil, for seasoning. 
In Italy, and southern Europe generally, bread made of 
the flour of wheat or Indian corn, with lettuce and the 
like mixed with oil, constitutes the food of the most 
robust part of its population. The Lazzaroni of Naples, 
with forms so active and finely proportioned, cannot 
even calculate on this much ; coarse bread and potatoes 
is their chief reliance — their drink of luxury is a glass 
of iced water slightly acidulated. Hundreds of thousands, 
we might say millions, of Irish, do not see flesh meat or 
fish from one week's end to the other. Potatoes and 
oat-meal are their articles of food — if milk can be added, 
it is thought a luxury ; yet where shall we find a more 
healthy and robust population, or one more enduring of 
bodily fatigue, and exhibiting more mental vivacity'? 
What a contrast between these people and the inhab- 
itants of the extreme north, the timid Laplanders, 
Esquimaux, Samoideans, whose food is almost entirely 
animal ! 



Affectation and Hypocrisy. — Affectation is to be always 
distinguished from hypocrisy, as being the art of counter- 
feiting those qualities which we might, with innocence 
and safety, be known to want. Hypocrisy is the natural 
burden of villany, affectation part of the chosen trappings 
of folly. 



PHYSICAL EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 263 



PHYSICAL EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 

In the physical education of children, it is not suffi- 
cient to consult merely their present ease and well-being ; 
but attention is equally due to whatever is calculated to 
promote the vigor and usefulness of their future lives, 
by strengthening the constitution, preserving the limbs 
in the free exercise of all their motions, and guarantying 
the system from the deleterious influence of those agents 
by which it is to be constantly surrounded. 

Throughout the whole animal kingdom, the young are 
prompted by an instinctive impulse to almost constant 
exercise. Conformable to this intimation of nature, the 
infancy of man should be passed in those harmless gam- 
bols which exercise the limbs without requiring any 
minute directions from the head, or the constant guidance 
of a nurse. 

It is well known to physicians, that when attempts 
are made in early youth to interfere with the natural 
movements and exercise of the body — when, from a false 
idea of improving the shape, or giving grace to the 
carriage, children are confined to any particular position 
for too long a period — they become restless and uneasy, 
and their muscles acquire tricks of involuntary motion. 
Twitching of the features, gesticulations of the limbs, 
or even dangerous and permanent deiormity, may be the 
result of such unnatural restraint. 

From exercise, and the free use of pure air, no child 
should be debarred : upon these depend, in a great mea- 
sure, the health, vigor, and cheerfulness of youth ; while 
they contribute essentially to the permanence of the 
same blessings during adult life. 



264 PHYSICAL EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 

Error in this respect, it is true, is but of occasional 
occurrence in the physical education of boys. But how 
often has an over-anxiety for delicacy of complexion in a 
daughter — or the apprehension that her limbs may become 
coarse and ungraceful, and her habits vulgar — been the 
means of debarring her from the enjoyment of either 
air or exercise to an extent sufficient to insure the health 
and activity of the system"? The consequence is, that 
too many females acquire in infancy a feeble, sickly, and 
languid habit — rendering them capricious and helpless, 
if not the subjects of suffering, through the whole course 
of their lives. 

The bodily exercises of the two sexes ought, in fact, 
to be the same. As it is important to secure to both 
all the corporeal advantages which nature has formed 
them to enjoy, both should be permitted, without con- 
trol, to partake of the same rational means of insuring 
a continued now of health and animal spirits, to enable 
their systems to perform perfectly all the functions of 
life. Girls should not therefore be confined to a seden- 
tary life within the precincts of the nursery, or at best 
permitted a short walk, veiled and defended from every 
gleam of sunshine and from every breath of air, The 
unconstrained enjoyment of their limbs and muscles in 
the open air, without a ligature to restrain the freedom 
of their motions, or an ever-watchful eye to curb the 
lively joy of their unclouded spirits, is equally important 
to their health .and well-being as to that of their bro- 
thers 

To hope to communicate graceful form and motions 
to the limbs of a child, health and vigor to its constitu- 
tion, and cheerfulness to its spirits by confinement, belts, 
ligatures, and splints, superadded to the lessons of the 



• PHYSICAL EDUCATION OF GIRLS. 265 

posture-master, is about as rational as would be the 
attempt to improve the beauty and vigor of our forest 
trees, by transferring them to the green-house, and 
extending their branches along an artificial framework. 

The first occupations of the day, for children, should 
be abroad, for the benefit of inhaling the morning air. 
Every person who notices the first, will be struck with 
the difference in the health and freshness of complexion 
and cheerfulness of feature, exhibited by the child who 
has spent some time in outdoor exercise before its 
morning meal and task, and the one who passes imme- 
diately from its couch to the breakfast table, and thence 
to study. Children are fond of early rising, when their 
natural activity of disposition, and disinclination to 
remain long in a state of quiet, have not been counter- 
acted by habits of indulgence. 

As mucli of the day should be passed in the open air 
as the weather will permit, and is compatible with those 
necessary avocations which call for attendance within 
doors. Nor are we inclined to limit this outdoor exer- 
cise, in respect to girls 3 to the season of summer alone. 
Though female children, as generally educated, may not 
be able to bear the extremes of heat and cold as well as 
boys ; yet, by proper management, they may be enabled 
to sustain with as little inconvenience the transitions 
of the seasons. A habitual use of the cold bath, when 
no circumstances are present to forbid its employment, 
while it contributes to the health of the system gene 
rally, is an effectual means of removing that delicacy of 
constitution which renders an exposure to cold alike 
disagreeable and prejudicial. 



266 THE DIET OF CHILDREN. 



THE DIET OF CHILDREN. 

During the early stages of life, all heating and 
stimulating food and drinks should be strictly forbidden, 
as they tend more certainly to produce disease, in the 
readily excited system, during childhood, than perhaps 
at any other period of life. 

Vegetables should, in fact, constitute the principal 
diet of children, especially the farinaceous substances, 
such as bread, rice, arrow-root, potatoes, etc. To these 
may be joined milk, soft-boiled eggs, and a very mode- 
rate allowance of plain and simply cooked animal food. 
Children have, in general, very excellent appetites, and 
a sufficiency of nourishing food is absolutely necessary, 
not merely to renew the waste of their systems, but also 
to supply materials for their daily growth. 

Three, or perhaps four light meals a day will be found 
a good allowance during childhood. At one of these, 
the dinner or mid-day meal, animal food may be allowed 
in moderation; for the others, bread, or potatoes and 
milk, various preparations of rice, or rice and milk, 
plain bread pudding, or custard, will form a proper and 
wholesome diet. All salted and high-seasoned food 
should be forbidden. Some have objected to butter for 
children, although experience would appear to show that 
a very moderate allowance of fresh butter is by no means 
injurious. Of vegetables, potatoes, carrots, turnips, 
beets, and cauliflowers will be found the most whole- 
some — they should be well boiled, and the potatoes and 
turnips eaten without being mashed or mixed with butter 
and fat gravy. Children should never be indulged in 



THE DIET OF CHILDREN". 267 

pastry of any kind — they may occasionally take a little 
of the cooked fruit of a pie, but even this should be in 
moderation. 

The drink of children should be simply water, milk, 
milk and water, whey, or very weak tea, milk and sugar. 
All stimulating and fermented liquors are not only un- 
necessary, but positively injurious : by increasing, to an 
improper extent, the circulation of the blood, they in- 
duce fever, indigestion, inflammation, or convulsions, to 
say nothing of the danger of their use during childhood 
giving rise to habits of intemperance in after life. 

The period of the meals should be strictly regulated — 
and in such a manner that the intervals between them 
should not be so great as to permit the children to ex~ 
perience, for any time, a sensation of hunger. Supper 
should always be taken an hour or two before bedtime. 

Children should get their breakfasts as soon after they 
have risen and have been properly washed and combed, 
as possible — their stomachs are then empty, and the 
appetite keen. If food be too long withheld, the cravings 
of the stomach become either too importunate, or the 
appetite fails — either of which would be injurious. 

As little variety of food as possible should be set 
before children, since every extraordinary article be- 
comes a new incentive to appetite. They should never 
be indulged with a second course. If they sit down 
with an appetite they will always satisfy it by eating 
freely of the first article presented to them, hence all 
the rest is superfluous, and therefore injurious. If the 
appetite be trifling, the less they eat at the time the 
better — as by taking but little the appetite will more 
certainly return at the next meal. But, should this in- 
stinct of nature for an observance of moderation be 



268 THE DIET OF CHILDREN. 

neglected, or be attempted to be overcome by variety, 
repletion, with all its evils, will follow. Instead of a 
renewed and healthy appetite following, as would have 
been the case had the instinct been obeyed, it will be 
found diminished, and most probably attended with head- 
ache, fever, oppression, or even vomiting. 

Children should not be allowed to eat frequently of 
bread, bread and butter, bread and molasses, cakes, or 
fruit between meals — for this will either destroy the 
regular appetite, or induce them to eat too much. In 
the first case, the stomach will be interrupted in its 
regular routine of function — consequently the appetite 
will become either irregular or capricious — in the second 
case, all the evils attendant upon an over-distension of 
the stomach must follow. 

They should, therefore, not be suffered to carry food 
in their pockets, to eat between meals, or during school 
hours — as this produces the injurious habit of requiring 
food at improper times, by which the digestion of the 
previous meal is interfered with — a fresh quantity of 
food being forced upon the stomach before it has pro- 
perly digested that which had been before received. 

Children are to be restrained from any violent exer- 
cise immediately after dinner ; if not kept in a state of 
perfect rest they should, at least, be prevented from 
engaging in any pastime which requires considerable 
bodily exertion. They should also be early taught the 
importance of eating slowly and chewing their food 
well — on this account, alone, the habit of resting after 
a meal is of importance, as it prevents them from swal- 
lowing their meals hastily, in order that they may return 
more quickly to their play. 

In regulating the diet of children, care should be taken 



THE DIET OF CHILDREN. 269 

not to force any particular article upon them, after it is 
found by a fair trial not to agree with their stomachs. 
The contrary practice is both cruel and injudicious — 
cruel because the poor child is forced to swallow what 
is disagreeable to it — and injudicious because it is liable 
to perpetuate a disgust, which, most probably, would 
have subsided, had no forcible attempt been made to 
overcome it. At the same time, however, great care 
must be taken that permanent dislikes are not formed 
at this period of life against certain wholesome articles 
of food. This, however, is often a matter of very great 
difficulty — a good deal of close observation and discern- 
ment being required in order to distinguish between a 
wayward prejudice and an actual disgust. The former, 
if indulged in too long, may be converted into the latter, 
while the latter may often, by judicious and well- 
adapted means, be entirely removed. 

Children should never be suffered to eat alone, unless 
the proper amount of food be meted out to them — other- 
wise they will almost always eat too much. 

If a child demand more than is judged proper for it, 
its importunities should always be resisted with firmness, 
or it will too certainly acquire habits of gluttony 



Passionate People. — Plato, speaking of passionate per- 
sons, says, they are like men who stand on their heads, 
they see all things the wrong way. 



They who would be young when they are old must be 
old when they arc young. 



270 POPULAR ERROR — STRENGTH AND DEBILITY. 



POPULAR ERROR— STRENGTH AND 
DEBILITY. 

A popular error, the fruitful source of improper habits 
and disease, is the fear of debility. Weakness or ex- 
haustion is looked upon as the chief cause, either remote 
or immediate, of nearly all the physical suffering to 
which the human system is liable. To guard against 
debility, therefore, or to remove it when present, occu- 
pies much of the attention and solicitude of the public 
mind ; and upon these two points many ruinous mistakes 
are hourly committed. If the means pointed out by 
nature herself, as the best to preserve the body in the 
free and vigorous performance of all its various functions, 
were those popularly employed to shield it from debility 
— no harm, but, on the contrary, much good, would result. 
If a plain and temperate diet, a due degree of appropriate 
exercise, pure air, proper clothing, in connection with an 
unsullied conscience and a cheerful mind, were the 
remedies to which men were in the habit of resorting to 
sustain the strength of their systems, there would be a 
far more common possession than is now the case : un- 
fortunately, however, a very different course of conduct 
is in general pursued. 

From an ignorance of the rules t)f health, and their 
consequent violation, the integrity of some internal 
organ is impaired ; it can no longer perform its functions 
with that degree of perfection and regularity necessary 
to the well-being of the system. If it be an organ essen- 
tial to life, every other suffers with it, and the individual 
is incapacitated from his accustomed bodily or mental 



POPULAR ERROR — STRENGTH AND DEBILITY. 271 

labor. According to his 1 own account, he is in a state 
of debility. This, to a certain extent, is true ; but it is 
a debility that can be removed only by restoring to 
health the organ primarily affected: a task for which 
the experienced and skilful physician is alone competent. 
But the sufferer is himself of a different opinion : if he 
is debilitated, all he requires is something to restore 
strength to his system generally ; additional and more 
stimulating food; some cordial or elixir; some potent 
tonic. These are soon obtained; a momentary excitement 
is the result, to sustain which requires their frequent 
repetition; but so far from any permanent advantage 
resulting from their use, the symptoms advance with in- 
creased rapidity ; the individual becomes more and more 
exhausted ; and if he fall not a speedy victim to the dis- 
ease itself, he too often does to the effects of intemperate 
habits induced by the remedies to which he has had 
recourse. 

It is not merely in disease, that erroneous opinions in 
regard to debility are productive of evil effects. During 
health, the same injudicious means are resorted to, to 
sustain the strength of the system, as are supposed capa- 
ble of restoring it when absent. 

The infant in the nursery is too often pampered into 
disease, under the ridiculous notion of ministering to 
its strength ; while every day, the adult, to augment his 
vigor or prevent debility — to accelerate digestion, or to 
guard his system from the supposed weakening influence 
of external agents — pours into his stomach a variety of 
articles, the direct tendency of which is to destroy the 
functions of the latter organ, and to spread disease, suf- 
fering and debility, through every portion of the body. 

The means of avoiding disease (temperance, pure air, 



272 POPULAR ERROR — STRENGTH AND DEBILITY. 

exercise, and the subjection of the animal passions) are 
the only ones capable of increasing and maintaining the 
physical strength of the system : from the inventions of 
the cook, the products of the still, or the combinations 
of the apothecary, directly opposite effects invariably 
result. 

Of the truth of these remarks we have a striking in- 
stance in the life of Cornaro, a noble Venetian who died 
at Padua, in 1565, in the ninety-eighth year of his age. 
Having lived freely in his youth, he injured his health, 
which he re-established by strict temperance and well- 
regulated exercise ; while by exerting his reason and 
philosophy he also conquered his temper, which was 
naturally impatient and bad. In his eighty-third year, 
he thus describes himself: — 

" I now enjoy a vigorous state of body and of mind. 
I mount my horse from the level ground; I climb steep 
ascents with ease ; and have lately wrote a comedy full 
of innocent mirth and raillery. When I return home 
either from private business or from the senate, I have 
eleven grandchildren, with whose education, amusement, 
and songs I am greatly delighted ; and I frequently sing 
with them, for my voice is clearer and stronger now 
than ever it was in my youth. In short, I am in all re- 
spects happy, and quite a stranger to the doleful, morose, 
dying life of lame, deaf, and blind old age, worn out with 
intemperance." 



Maiis Doable Duty. — "As I am a compound of soul 
and body, I consider myself as obliged to a double scheme 
of duties ; and think I have not fulfilled the business of 
the day, when I do not thus employ the one in labor and 
exercise, as well as the other in study and contemplation." 



NIGHTMARE. 273 



NIGHTMARE. 



In this disease the patient, in time of sleep, imagines 
he feels an uncommon oppression or weight about his 
breast or stomach, which he can by no means shake off. 
He groans, and sometimes cries out, though oftener he 
attempts to speak in vain. Sometimes he imagines him- 
self engaged with an enemy, and in danger of being 
killed, attempts to run away, but finds he cannot. Some- 
times he fancies himself in a house that is on fire, or 
that he is in danger of being drowned in a river. He 
often thinks he is falling over a precipice, and the dread 
of being dashed to pieces suddenly awakes him. 

This disorder has been supposed to proceed from too 
much blood ; from a stagnation of blood in the brain, 
lungs, etc. But. it is rather a nervous affection, and 
arises chiefly from indigestion. Hence we find that per- 
sons of weak nerves, who lead a sedentary life, and live 
full, are most commonly afflicted with the nightmare. 
Nothing tends more to produce it than heavy suppers, 
especially when eaten late, or the patient goes to bed 
soon after. Wind is likewise a very frequent cause of 
this disease; for which reason those who are afflicted 
with it ought to avoid all flatulent food. Deep thought, 
anxiety, or anything that oppresses the mind, ought also 
to be avoided. 

As persons afflicted with the nightmare generally 
moan, or make some noise in the fit, they should be 
waived, or spoken to by such as hear them, as the un- 
easiness generally goes off as soon as the patient is awake. 
A dram of brandy, taken at bedtime, prevents this 
is 



274 NIGHTMARE. 

disease. That, however, is a bad custom, and in time 
loses its effects. We would rather have the patient 
depend upon the use of food of easy digestion, cheerful- 
ness, exercise through the day, and a light supper taken 
early, than to accustom himself to drams. A glass of 
peppermint water will often promote digestion as much 
as a glass of brandy, and is much safer. After a person 
of weak digestion, however, has eaten flatulent food, a 
dram may be necessary. 

Elixir of vitriol is an excellent medicine in most cases 
of indigestion, weakness of the stomach, or want of appe- 
tite. From ten to twenty drops of it may be taken twice 
or thrice a day in a glass of wine or water. It may 
likewise be mixed with the tincture of the bark of cin- 
chona, one drachm of the former to an ounce of the 
latter, and two teaspoonfuls of it taken in wine or water 
as above. 

Persons who are young and full of blood, if troubled 
with the nightmare, ought to take a purge frequently, 
and use a spare diet. 



The skin is the greatest medium for purifying our 
bodies ; and every moment a multitude of useless, cor- 
rupt, and worn-out particles evaporate through its 
numberless small vessels in an insensible manner. This 
secretion is inseparably connected with life and the 
circulation of our blood ; and by it the greater part of 
all the impurity of our bodies is removed. If the skin, 
therefore, be flabby or inactive, and if its pores be 
stopped up, an acridity and corruption of our juices will 
be the unavoidable consequence, and the most dangerous 
diseases may ensue. 



WANT OF APPETITE. 275 



WANT OF APPETITE. 

This may proceed from a foul stomach, indigestion, 
the want of free air and exercise, grief, fear, anxiety, or 
any of the depressing passions, excessive heat, the use 
of strong broths, fat meats, or anything that palls the 
appetite, or is hard of digestion, the immoderate use of 
strong liquors, tea, tobacco, opium, etc. 

The patient ought, if possible, to make choice of an 
open, dry air, to take exercise daily on horseback or in a 
carriage, to rise betimes, and to avoid all intense thought. 
He should use a diet of easy digestion, and should avoid 
excessive heat and great fatigue. 

If want of appetite proceeds from errors in diet, or 
any other part of the patient's regimen, it ought to be 
changed. If nausea and retchings show that the stomach 
is loaded with crudities, a vomit will be of service. 
After this a gentle purge or two of rhubarb, or any of 
the better purging salts, may be taken. The patient 
ought next to use some of the stomachic bitters infused 
in wine. Though gentle evacuations be necessary, yet 
strong purges and vomits are to be avoided, as they 
weaken the stomach and hurt digestion. 

Tincture of iron is an excellent medicine in most cases 
of indigestion, weakness of the stomach, or want of appe- 
tite. From twenty to thirty drops of it may be taken 
twice or thrice a day in a glass of wine or water. It 
may likewise be mixed with the tincture of the bark, 
one drachm of the former to an ounce of the latter, and 
two teaspoonfuls of it taken in wine and water as above. 



275 APHORISMS FOR BATHERS. 



APHORISMS FOR BATHERS. 



RULES FOR THE GUIDANCE OF BATHERS. 

These rules, which are sensible and practical, cannot 
be too extensively known : — 

Avoid bathing within two hours after a meal. 

Avoid bathing when exhausted by fatigue or from any 
other cause. 

Avoid bathing when the body is cooling after perspi- 
ration ; but — 

Bathe when the body is warm, provided no time is 
lost in getting into the water. 

Avoid chilling the body by sitting or standing naked 
on the banks or in boats after having been in the water. 

Avoid remaining too long in the water. Leave the 
water immediately there is the slightest feeling of chilli- 
ness. 

Avoid bathing altogether in the open air, if, after 
having been a short time in the water, there is a sense 
of chilliness, with numbness of the hands and feet. 

The vigorous and strong may bathe early in the 
morning on an empty stomach. 

The young, and those that are weak, had better bathe 
three hours after a meal. The best time for such is 
from two to three hours after breakfast. 

Those who are subject to attacks of giddiness and 
faintness, and those who suffer from palpitation and 
other sense of discomfort at the heart, should not 
bathe without first consulting their medical adviser. 



doctors' and lawyers' patrons. 277 



DOCTORS' AND LAWYERS' PATRONS. 

I haye known many people who would listen to any 
quack in medicine, and swallow almost any prescription, 
but never one who, when he found himself involved in 
a legal difficulty, did not desire the advice of a legal 
practitioner, and the best, too, whose services he could 
command. A man who is positive and dogmatical with 
his physician or his clergyman is apt to be submissive 
to his lawyer, for the reason that when he meddles with 
the law he knows that he is trifling with edged tools, 
which may cut deep when he least expects it. 

" What are you going to do next V said, a client to 
an astute old lawyer in a neighboring city. 

" I am going," said the lawyer, " to file a demurrer." 
"A demurrer! and what is that"?" "A demurrer is 
what your Maker never intended that you should under- 
stand." 



Let sleep at noontide be brief, or none at all ; 
El se stupor, headache, fever, rheums will fall 
On him who yields to noontide's drowsy call. 
Let air you breathe be sunny, clear, and light, 
Free from disease, or cesspool's fetid blight. 
Take short potations at your meals, but oft, 
And lot all eggs you cat be fresh and soft. 
Art sick from vinous surfeiting at night] 
Repeat the dose at morn; 'twill set thee right. 
A drunken night makes a cloudy morning. 



278 MARRIAGE ON THE DURATION OF HUMAN LIFE. 



INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE ON THE DURA- 
TION OF HUMAN LIFE. 

Marriage greatly increases tne probability of life in 
both sexes. Women who marry at twenty have a 
chance of life eleven years greater than that of those 
who remain single. The same doctrine holds true, ap- 
parently, at all periods of life. The probabilities of life 
for married men exceed those of bachelors by nineteen 
years, thus exceeding that of the married female by 
eight years — a difference probably caused by the mor- 
tality resulting from child-birth. Thus, it appears that, 
from the age of twenty to thirty, the mortality of hus- 
bands to bachelors is as one to twelve, while that of 
wives to spinisters is only as one to six for the same 
period of life. 






I labor for the good time coming, when sickness and 
disease, except congenital or from accident, will be re- 
garded as the result of ignorance or animalism, and will 
degrade the individual in the estimation of the good, as 
much as drunkenness now does. 



Charm of Wedlock. — Marriage improves happiness, 
and abates misery, by the doubling of our joy and di- 
viding of our grief; and when we are blessed with a 
healthy progeny, the comforts of home possess hitherto 
unknown allurements. 



LOW SPIRITS. 279 



LOW SPIRITS. 



All who have weaK nerves are suoject to low spirits 
in a greater or less degree. Generous diet, the cold 
bath, exercise and amusements, are the most likely 
means to remove this complaint. It is greatly increased 
by solitude and indulging gloomy ideas, but may often 
be relieved by cheerful company and sprightly amuse- 
ments. 

When low spirits are owing to a weak, relaxed state 
of the stomach and bowels, an infusion of the Peruvian 
bark, with cinnamon or nutmeg, will be proper. Tinc- 
ture of iron, from twenty to forty drops, taken after 
each meal, in a little water, or aromatics may be used 
with advantage, but riding, and a proper diet, are much 
to be depended on. 

When they arise from foulness of the stomach and 
intestines, or obstructions in the hypochondriac viscera, 
aloetic purges will be proper. I have sometimes known 
the sulphur-water of service in this case. 

When low spirits have been brought on by long-con- 
tinued grief, anxiety, or other distress of mind, agree- 
able company, variety of amusements, and change of 
place, especially travelling into foreign countries, will 
afford the most certain relief. 

Persons afflicted with low spirits should avoid all 
kinds of excess and strong liquors. The moderate use 
of wine and other strong liquors is by no means hurtful ; 
but when taken to excess they weaken the stomach, 
vitiate the humors, and depress the spirits. This caution 
is the more necessary, as the unfortunate and melancholy 
often fly to strong liquors for relief, by which means they 
never fail to precipitate their own destruction. 



280 THE MEDICAL ASPECTS OF A FAST LIFE. 



THE MEDICAL ASPECTS OF A FAST LIFE. 

We do not mean a life of excitement and dissipation, 
or a disregard of moral considerations, but that species 
of go-aheadism which we see in its first development, 
perhaps among the Americans. In no country in the 
world is the struggle for gain more actively carried on 
than in the United States, and those who have watched 
the habits of the commercial classes in London and New 
York, declare that the industry of the former is as 
child's play compared with the unremitting energy of 
the latter. The number of New York lawyers and mer- 
chants who take what Englishmen would call a vacation 
is said to be exceedingly small ; and according to the cor- 
respondent of the Daily News, they send their wives and 
families to the seaside or the mountains, where they join 
them at night, or run down by rail from Saturday to Sun- 
day. The consequences of all this high-pressure busi- 
ness energy, combined, as it frequently is, with a con- 
siderable amount of excitement and anxiety, and a devo- 
tion to iced drinks and whiskey, is an increased occur- 
rence of cases of nervous exhaustion, often ending in 
paralysis or lunacy. It will be remembered that, during 
the period of extreme heat at New York, there was a very 
unusual prevalence of heat-apoplexy, and if, as we are 
informed, ardent spirits are consumed there very much 
as beer is in this country, we need not be surprised at it. 
As the late Sir Charles Napier remarked, in reference to 
the maintenance of his own health, the heat of India 
found no ally in the alcohol in his brain. The moderate 
consumption of bitter beer, and the enjoyment of a tho- 






THE MEDICAL ASPECTS OF A FAST LIFE, 281 

rough holiday in the country, or at the seaside for some 
weeks, by our city merchants, are undoubtedly much 
more favorable to the maintenance of health and life than 
the habits of their hard-working, energetic cousins of 
Xew York. 



Hoiu Women are Duped by Flattery. — Sensible women 
have often been the dupes of designing men, thus : They 
have taken an opportunity of praising them to their own 
confidante, but with a solemn injunction of secresy. The 
confidante, however, as they know, will infallibly inform 
her principal the first moment she sees her ; and this is 
a mode of flattery which always succeeds. Even those 
females who nauseate flattery in any other shape, will 
not reject it in this ; just as we can bear the light of the 
sun without pain when reflected by the moon. 



Wooing in Poetry. — An old gentleman of the name 
of Page, finding a young lady's glove at a watering- 
place, presented it to her with the following words: — 

" If from your glove you take the letter G, 
Your glove is love, which I devote to thee." 

To which the lady returned the following answer: — 

" If from your Page you take the letter P, 
Your Page is age, and that won't do for me." 



Pride. — Zeno said : "Nothing was more indecent than 
pride, and especially in a young man." 






282 HEALTH PRESERVED BY RULES. 



HEALTH PRESERVED BY RULES. 

A respectable prelate, Cardinal de Salis, Archbishop 
of Seville, who died A.D. 1785, at the advanced age of 
110 years, is one among many instances of the advantages 
to be derived from rules. When asked what system he 
observed, he used to tell his friends — " By being old when 
I was young, I found myself young now I am old." 

Though it is not often we can draw dietetic rules fr6m 
the drama, or enforce in its language the advantages of 
temperance, yet the following passage from Shakspeare 
will be admitted by all as pertinent to our present pur- 
pose: — 

" Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty ; 
For in my youth I never did apply 
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ; 
Nor did not, with unbashful forehead woo 
The means of weakness and debility. . 
Therefore my age is aa a lusty winter — 
Frosty, but kindly." 

It is a mistake to suppose that rules are followed by 
the learned alone : peasants and laborers, although they 
think little upon the means of preserving health, do ob- 
serve rules few in number, indeed, but evidenced in 
their whole lives — being a series of indispensable atten- 
tion to air, exercise, moderation in regard to diet, drink, 
etc. Old Parr, who lived until the age of 152 years, 
gave this advice, " Keep your head cool by temperance, 
your feet warm by exercise, rise early, and go soon to 
bed, and if you are inclined to get fat, keep your eyes 
open, and your mouth shut." 

The reasons why attention to health is not oftener of 



HEALTH PRESERVED BY RULES. 283 

service than it has in general hitherto proved, may be 
given in a few words. People seldom attend to health 
till it is too late ; they never think of it till it is lost : 
when they do begin, it is without method and without 
knowledge. The means of preserving health and attain- 
ing longevity have not hitherto been made, as they ought 
to be, the peculiar study of the physician ; nor have the 
means of preserving health been generally taught as a 
separate and most important branch of the medical art. 
When people get into a debilitated state, they are too 
apt either to rely on their own skill, or to fly for relief 
to ignorant and presumptuous quacks, instead of trusting 
to the counsels of reputation and experience of the medi- 
cal profession. 



She who makes her husband and her children happy, 
who reclaims the one from vice, and trains up the other to 
virtue, is a much greater character than ladies described 
in romances, whose whole occupation is to murder man- 
kind with shafts from the quiver of their eyes. 



As health is the most precious of all things, and is the 
foundation of all happiness, the science of protecting life 
and health is the noblest of all, and most worthy the 
attention of all mankind. 



In early times skill in healing was esteemed a part of 
wisdom. — I believe; the practice of medicine should be 



agreeable to reason. 



234 THE FOUR GREAT SOURCES OF HEALTH. 



THE FOUR GREAT SOURCES OF HEALTH. 

One of the most pleasing of our duties is, to be able 
to direct into our own channel, and thereby circulate 
widely through the land, what we hold to be wise coun- 
sel, as it is our good fortune to do upon the present oc- 
casion, by laying before our readers the following chap- 
ter : — 

" The preservation of health mainly depends on early 
rising, temperance in eating and drinking, exercise, and 
cleanliness. 

" These important advantages are distributed between 
the rich and the poor in a tolerably fair proportion, which 
accounts for the apparent equability in the length of 
life between one and the other. The poor have early 
rising, which is of the very first consequence, and of 
which I shall speak hereafter more fully. From this the 
rich are almost excluded, because they have no obliga- 
tion to compel them, and because they go to bed too late. 

"The humble and often scanty diet of the poor, which 
they so much deplore, is yet of advantage to their health. 
True it is that as they work hard they could bear more 
substantial diet than they can generally procure. But 
luxurious living is very prejudicial, it vitiates the blood 
and humors, and lays the foundation of numerous com- 
plaints. From not being able to afford suppers, the poor 
enjoy sound rest, the want of which is so much com- 
plained of by the rich. But the poor injure themselves 
materially by intoxication, and that with drink of an 
inferior and hurtful quality. It is certain that every fit 
of drunkenness has its share in the shortening of life ; 



THE FOUR GREAT SOURCES OF HEALTH. 285 

for, however we may find men to whom it appears to do 
no injury, nothing is more reasonable than to conclude 
that they would live longer by avoiding inebriation. 
Amongst the better classes the vice has happily for 
many years past been gradually declining ; and it is now 
a great reproach to gentlemen to be seen drunk. But 
they use rich wines, liqueurs, and spirits, of which, at 
their numerous meals, without getting tipsy or drunk, 
they take too much altogether. They likewise eat much 
more than is necessary or proper, and that generally of 
things so artificially prepared that the simple qualities 
are lost, and may almost be considered as a medicine 
instead of natural food. 

"Of exercise, which is allowed by all as indispensable 
for the preservation of health, the poor have generally 
enough, but frequently too much, whilst, on the contrary, 
the rich who, from their sumptuous living, really require 
more, can scarcely be said to take any. This is a heavy 
draught on the resources of longevity. The subject is 
of great importance, and will, in the course of the work, 
be treated with particular attention. 

" But it is in cleanliness that the rich have indeed in- 
appreciable advantages over the poor. The word has 
too extensive a meaning to be considered, under all its 
bearings, in this concise sketch. It will suffice here to 
Bay,' that it must be taken in something more than its 
usual signification, personal cleanliness. In the present 
view it embraces numerous comforts, domestic and per- 
Bonal, and many valuable conveniences, presenting im- 
portant securities against injury to the health. That 
personal cleanliness, a thing nearly quite disregarded or 
unpractised by the poor, is of the greatest utility, will 
be hereafter fully shown: but there are other serious 



286 THE FOUR GREAT SOURCES OF HEALTH. 

disadvantages to which their poverty or want of means 
subject them. Clothes soaked with rain, and then sit- 
ting by a fire, and being obliged, from want of changes, 
to wear the same damp the next day — bad shoes — 
humid apartments from neglected roofs, washing of 
clothes, and other causes — foul air, from many persons 
crowded into a single room. Such are a few of the con- 
sequences of the privations of the poor as to cleanliness 
and comforts, from which result constant coughs and 
colds, asthma, rheumatism, and other complaints, which 
would preclude them from old age were it not for their 
early rising, simple diet, and exercise. 

" There is much difference between the laborer in 
the country and the working classes in large towns. If 
the former has to endure wet and hardships out of doors, 
he is accustomed to it from his infancy, and is descended 
from a hardy race: his hovel or hut, be it ever so 
miserable or so crowded, has the advantage of a much 
purer air than the room-keeper's garret in town; he has 
fewer opportunities of dissipation ; his food, though 
poor, is wholesome; his hours of mealtime are more 
regular, and his work is more uniformly healthful. 

" The country gentleman too has advantages over his 
equal in town. His exercise is of a rougher and more 
decided cast ; his food is more plain, because the con- 
fectioner, the pastry cook, and the foreign fruiterer are not 
always convenient ; balls, parties, and theatres do not offer 
every evening, and if he drink more after dinner, he can 
bear it better, because his food is more substantial and 
simple. The balance, indeed, seems to be in favor of 
the country ; and, accordingly, it is there that we mostly 
find instances of uncommonly extended life." 



ANTIQUITY OF BATHING. 287 



ANTIQUITY OF BATHING. 

If the custom of bathing be not coeval with the world, 
its origin may at least date from a very early epoch. The 
means which it furnished of purification and invigoration, 
seems to have been first adopted by the inhabitants of 
middle Asia, placed as they were under a sultry clime. 

The people of the first ages immersed themselves most 
frequently in rivers or in the sea ; and, accordingly, we 
are told of the daughter of Pharaoh bathing in the Nile, 
of Nausicaa and her companions, as also Agenor, bath- 
ing in the river, and of the Amazons refreshing them- 
selves in the water of Thermodon. The Greeks plunged 
their tender offspring into cold torrents — and Moschus 
and Theocritus make Europa bathe in the Anaurus, and 
the Spartan girls in the Eurotas. Domestic baths, sug- 
gested by the wants or the conveniences of life, were not 
unknown at very early periods. Diomed and Ulysses 
are represented as making use of such after they had 
washed in the sea — Andromache prepared warm water 
for Hector, who had just returned from battle — and 
Penelope, to banish sorrow, called in the aid of unctions 
and baths. Minerva, at Thermopylae, is feigned to have 
imparted by such means vigor to the wearied limbs of 
Hercules, and, in place of other gifts, Vulcan offered him 
warm baths. Pindar praises the warm bathing of the 
nymphs — and Homer himself, who ranked baths among 
the innocent pleasures of life, not only makes mention of 
a hot and vaporous spring adjoining a cold one, but even 
describes to us the baths which, by common tradition, 
were situated near the Scamander in the vicinity of Troy. 



288 ANTIQUITY OF BATHING. 

Of nearly equal celebrity were the baths of the 
Assyrians, Mecles, and Persians — and to such a pitch of 
grandeur and improvement were they carried by this 
last people, that Alexander himself was astonished at 
the luxury and magnificence of those of Darius, though 
accustomed to the voluptuous ones of Greece and 
Macedon. We need here but allude to the natural warm 
baths of Bithynia and Mytilene mentioned by Pliny, and 
to those of the Etruscans, as among the most early and 
extensively known and resorted to. 



The force of Example. — Nothing is so influential as 
example. We imitate good actions from a desire to 
emulate, and bad ones from a natural propensity in our 
natures, which shame conceals and example frees. 



Genius. — The only difference between a genius and 
one of common capacity is, that the former anticipates 
and explores what the latter accidentally hits upon. But 
even the man of genius himself more frequently employs 
the advantages that chance presents to him. It is the 
lapidary that gives value to the diamond which the 
peasant has dug up without knowing its worth. 



Banner of Prosperity. — Prosperity hath always been 
the cause of more evils to men than adversity ; and it is 
easier to bear one patiently, than not to forget himself 
in the other. 



PRESERVATION OF BEAUTY. 289 



PRESERVATION OF BEAUTY. 

"We recommend the following hints and directions to 
the attention of our female readers, which, though espe- 
cially addressed to them, are not without interest and 
application to the other sex. 

The rules which I would lay down for the preservation 
of the bloom of beauty, during its natural life, are few, 
and easy of access. And besides, having the advantage 
of speaking of my own wide and minute observations, I 
have the authorities of the most eminent physicians of 
every age to support my argument. The secret of pre- 
serving beauty lies in three things — temperance, exercise, 
and cleanliness. From these few heads, I hope much 
good instruction may be deduced. Temperance includes 
moderation at table, and in the enjoyment of what the 
world calls pleasure. A young beauty, were she fair as 
Hebe, and elegant as the goddess of Love herself, would 
soon lose these charms by a course of inordinate eating, 
drinking, and late hours. 

I guess that my delicate young readers will start at 
this last sentence, and wonder how it can be that any 
well-bred woman should think it possible that pretty 
Ladies would be guilty of either of the two first-mentioned 
excesses. But, when I speak of inordinate eating, etc., 
I do not mean feasting like a glutton or drinking to in- 
toxication. My objection is not more against the quantity 
than the quality of the dishes which constitute the usual 
repasta of women of fashion. Their breakfasts not only 
set forth tea and coffee, but chocolate, and hot bread and 
butter. Both of these latter articles, when taken con- 
19 



290 PRESERVATION OF BEAUTY. 

stantly, are hostile to health and female delicacy. The 
heated grease, which is their principal ingredient, de- 
ranges the stomach ; and, by creating or increasing bilious 
disorders, gradually overspreads the fair skin with a wan 
or yellow hue. After this meal, a long and exhausting 
fast not unfrequently succeeds, from ten in the morning 
till six or seven in the evening, when dinner is served 
up; and the half-fa'mished beauty sits down to sate a 
keen appetite with Cayenne soups, fish, French patees 
steaming with garlic, roast and boiled meat, game, tarts, 
sweetmeats, ices, fruits, etc. etc. How must the consti- 
tution suffer under the digestion of this melange 1 How 
does the heated complexion bear witness to the combus- 
tion within 1 And, when we consider that the beverage 
she takes to dilute this mass of food, and assuage the 
consequent fever in her stomach, is not merely water 
from the spring, but champagne, Madeira, and other 
wines, foreign and domestic, you cannot wonder that I 
should warn the inexperienced creature against intem- 
perance. 

The superabundance of aliment which she takes in at 
this time, is not only destructive of beauty, but the period 
of such repletion is full of other dangers. Long fasting 
wastes the powers of digestion and weakens the springs 
of life. In this enfeebled state, at the hour when nature 
intends we should prepare for general repose, we put our 
stomach and animal spirits to extraordinary exertion. 
Our vital functions are overtasked and overloaded ; we 
become hectic — for observation strongly declares that 
invalid and delicate persons should rarely eat solids after 
three o'clock in the day, as fever is generally the conse- 
quence; and thus, almost, every complaint that distresses 
and destroys the human frame may be engendered. 



PRESERVATION OF BEAUTY. 291 

" When hunger calls, obey ; nor often wait 
Till hunger sharpen to corrosive pain ; 
For the keen appetite will feast beyond 
What nature well can bear ; and one extreme 
Xe'er -without danger meets its own reverse." 

Besides, when we add to this evil the present mode of 
bracing the digestive part of the body in what is called 
long stays, to what an extent must reach the baneful 
effects of a protracted and abundant repast ] Indeed, I 
am fully persuaded that long fasting, late dining, and 
the excessive repletion then taken into the exhausted 
stomach, with the tight pressure of steel and whalebone, 
on the most susceptible parts of the frame, then called 
into action, and the midnight, nay morning, hours of 
lingering pleasure, are the positive causes of colds taken, 
bilious fevers, consumptions, and atrophies. By the 
means enumerated, the firm texture of the constitution 
is 'broken, and the principles of health, being in a man- 
ner decomposed, the finest parts fly off, and the dregs 
maintain the poor survivor of herself in a sad kind of 
artificial existence. Delicate proportion gives place 
either to miserable leanness or shapeless fat. The once 
fair skin assumes a pallid rigidity or a bloated redness, 
which the vain possessor would still regard as the rose 
of health and beauty. 

To repair these ravages, comes the aid of padding, 
to give shape where there is none; long stays, to com- 
press into form the chaos of flesh; and paints off all 
lines, to rectify the disorder of the complexion. But 
useless are these attempts. If dissipation, disease, and 
immoderation have wrecked the fair vessel of female 
charms, it is not in the power of Esculapius himself to 
refit the shattered bark; or of the Syrens, with all their 



292 PRESERVATION OF BEAUTY. 

songs and wiles, to conjure its battered sides from the 
rocks, and make it ride the seas in gallant trim again. 

It is with pleasure that I turn from this ruin, of all 
that is beauteous and lovely, to the cheering hope of 
preserving every charm unimpaired ; and by means 
which the most ingenuous mind need not blush to ac- 
knowledge. 

The rules, I repeat, are few. First temperance : a 
well timed use of the table, and so moderate a pursuit 
of pleasure, that the midnight ball, assembly, and thea- 
tre, shall not too frequently recur. 

My next specific is that of gentle and daily exercise 
in the open air. Nature teaches us, in the gambols and 
sportiveness of the young of the lower animals, that 
bodily exertion is necessary for the growth, vigor, and 
symmetry of the animal frame; while the too studious 
scholar, and the indolent man of luxury, exhibit in them- 
selves the pernicious consequences of the want of exer- 
cise. 

This may be almost always obtained, either on horse- 
back or on foot, in fine weather; and, when that is 
denied, in a carriage. Country air in the fields or in 
gardens, when breathed at proper hours, is an excellent 
bracer of the nerves, and a sure brightener of the com- 
plexion. But these hours are neither under the mid- 
day sun in summer, when its beams scorch the skin and 
ferment the blood; nor beneath the dews of evening,, 
when the imperceptible damps, saturating the thmly- 
clad body, send the wanderer home infected with the 
disease that is to lay her, ere a returning spring, in the 
silent tomb ! Both these periods are pregnant with 
danger to delicacy and carefulness. 

The morning, about two or three hours after sunrise, 



PRESERVATION OF BEAUTY. 293 

is the most salubrious time for a vigorous walk. But, 
as the day advances, if you choose to prolong the sweet 
enjoyment of the open air, then the thick wood or shady 
lane will afford refreshing shelter from the too intense 
heat of the sun. 

In short, the morning and evening dew, and the un- 
repelled blaze of a summer noon, must alike be ever 
avoided as the enemies of health and beauty 

" Fly, if you can, these violent extremes 
Of air ; the wholesome is nor moist nor dry." 

Cleanliness, my last receipt (and which is, like the 
others, applicable to all ages), is of most powerful effi- 
cacy. It maintains the limbs in their pliancy, the skin 
in its softness, the complexion in its lustre, the eyes in 
their brightness, the teeth in their purity, and the con- 
stitution in its fairest vigor. To promote cleanliness, I 
can recommend nothing preferable to bathing. 

The frequent use of tepid (warm) baths is not more 
grateful to the sense than it is salutary to the health, 
and to beauty. By such ablution all accidental corporeal 
impurities are thrown off; cutaneous obstructions re* 
moved ; and while the surface of the body is preserved 
in its original brightness, many threatening disorders are 
removed or prevented. 

By such means the women of the East render their 
skin softer than that of the tcuderest babes in this 
climate, and preserve that health which sedentary con- 
finement would otherwise destroy. 

'Ih is delightful and delicate oriental fashion is now, I 
am happy to say, prevalent almost all over the continent. 
From the villas of Italy, the chateaux of France; from 
the castles of Germany to the palaces of Muscovy; we 



294 PRESERVATION OF BEAUTY. 

may, everywhere, find the marble bath under the vaulted 
portico or the sheltering shade. Every house of every 
nobleman or gentleman, in every nation under the sun, 
excepting Britain, possesses one of those genial friends 
to cleanliness and comfort. The generality of English 
ladies seem to be ignorant of the use of any bath larger 
than awash-hand basin. This is the more extraordinary 
to me, when I contemplate the changeable temperature 
of the climate, and consider the corresponding altera- 
tions of the bodily feelings of the people. By abruptly 
checking the secretions it produces those chronic and 
cutaneous diseases so peculiar to our nation, and so heavy 
a cause of complaint. 

This very circumstance renders baths more necessary 
in England than anywhere else ; for as this is the 
climate most subject to sudden heats and colds, rains 
and fogs, tepid immersion is the only sovereign remedy 
against their usual morbific effects. 

Indeed, so impressed am I with the consequence of 
their regimen, that I strongly recommend to every lady 
to make a. bath as indispensable an article in her house 
as a looking-glass. 

" This is the purest exercise of health, 
The kind refresher of the summer heats. " 

" Even from the body's purity, the mind 
Eeceives a secret sympathetic aid." 

It may be remarked that friction, applied to the skin, 
in the bath, is an excellent substitute for exercise, when 
this is impracticable out of doors. 



A deformed body may have a beautiful soul. 



OF THE PASSIONS. 295 



OF THE PASSIONS. 

The passions have great influence both in the cause 
and cure of disease. How the mind affects the body, 
will, in all probability, ever remain a secret. It is suffi- 
cient for us to know that there is established a recipro- 
cal influence between the mental and corporeal parts, 
and that whatever injures the one disorders the other. 

OF ANGER. 

The passion of anger ruffles the mind, distorts the 
countenance, hurries on the circulation of the blood, and 
disorders the whole vital and animal functions. It often 
occasions fevers, and other acute diseases ; and, sometimes, 
even sudden death. This passion is peculiarly hurtful 
to the delicate, and those of weak nerves. I have known 
such persons frequently lose their lives by a violent fit 
of anger, and would advise them to guard against the 
excess of this passion with the utmost care. 

It is not, indeed, always in our power to prevent being 
angry ; but we may surely avoid harboring resentment in 
our breast. Resentment preys upon the mind, and occa- 
sions the most obstinate chronic disorders, which gradu- 
ally waste the constitution. Nothing shows true great- 
ness of mind more than to forgive injuries ; it promotes 
the peace of society, and greatly conduces to our own ease, 
health, and felicity. 

Such as value health should avoid violent gusts of 
anger, as they would the most deadly poison. Neither 
ought they to indulge resentment, but to endeavor at all 



296 OF THE PASSIONS. 

times to keep their minds calm and serene. Nothing 
tends so much to the health of the body as a constant 
tranquillity of mind. 

OF FEAR. 

The influence of fear, both in occasioning and aggra- 
vating diseases, is very great. No man ought to be 
blamed for a decent concern about life ; but too great a 
desire to preserve it is often the cause of losing it. Fear 
and anxiety, by depressing the spirits, not only dispose 
us to disease, but often render those diseases fatal which 
an undaunted mind would overcome. 

Sudden fear has generally violent effects. Epileptic 
fits, and other convulsive disorders, are often occasioned 
by it. Hence the danger of that practice, so common 
among young people, of frightening one another. Many 
have lost their lives, and others have been rendered 
miserable, by frolics of this kind. It is dangerous to 
tamper with the human passions. The mind may easily 
be thrown into such disorder as never again to act with 
regularity. 

But the gradual effects of fear prove most hurtful. 
The constant dread of some future evil by dwelling upon 
the mind, often occasions the very evil itself. Hence it 
comes to pass that so many die of those very diseases of 
which they long had a dread, or which had been im- 
pressed on their minds by some accident, or foolish pre- 
diction. This, for example, is often the case with women 
in childbed. Many of those who die in that situation 
are impressed with a notion of their death a long time 
before it happens ; and there is reason to believe that this 
impression is often the cause of it. 



OF THE PASSIONS. 297 

Many make it their business to visit the sick on pur- 
pose to whisper dismal stories in their ears. Such may 
pass for sympathizing friends, but they ought rather to 
be considered as enemies ; we ought to keep the sick as 
much from hearing it as possible, and from every other 
thing that may tend to alarm them. All who wish well 
to the sick ought to keep such persons at the greatest 
distance from them. 

A custom has long prevailed among physicians of prog- 
nosticating, as they call it, the patient's fate, or fortelling 
the issue of the disease. Vanity, no doubt, introduced 
this practice, and still supports it, in spite of common 
sense and the safety of mankind. I have known a phy- 
sician barbarous enough to boast, that he pronounced 
more sentences than all his Majesty's judges. Would to 
God that such sentences were not often equally fatal ! 
It may indeed be alleged, that the doctor does not de- 
clare his opinion before the patient. So much the worse. 
A sensible patient had better hear what the doctor says, 
than learn it from the disconsolate looks, the watery eyes, 
and the broken whispers of those about him. It seldom 
happens, when the doctor gives an unfavorable opinion, 
that it can be concealed from the patient. The very em- 
barrassment which the friends and attendants show in 
disguising what he has said, is generally too sufficient to 
discover the truth. 

Kind Heaven has, for the wisest ends, concealed from 
mortals their fate, and we do not see what right any man 
has to announce the death of another, especially if such 
;i declaration has a chance to kill him. Mankind are 
indeed very fond of prying into future events, and seldom 
fail to solicit the physician for his opinion. A doubtful 
answer, however, or one that may tend rather to encour- 



298 OF THE PASSIONS. 

age the hopes of the sick, is surely the most proper. 
This conduct could neither hurt the patient nor the 
physician. Nothing tends more to destroy the credit of 
physic than those bold prognosticators, who, by-the-by, 
are generally the most ignorant of the faculty. The mis- 
takes which daily happen in this way are so many stand- 
ing proofs of human vanity, and the weakness of science. 

We readily admit that there are cases, where the 
physician ought to give intimation of the patient's dan- 
ger to some of his near connections ; but it never can 
be necessary in any case that the whole town and country 
should know, immediately after the doctor has made his 
first visit, that he has no hopes of his patient's recovery. 
Persons, whose impertinent curiosity leads them to ques- 
tion the physician with regard to the fate of his patient, 
certainly deserve no other than an evasive answer. 

The vanity of foretelling the fate of the sick is not 
peculiar to the faculty. Others follow their example, 
and those who think themselves wiser than their neijjh- 
bors often do much hurt in this way. Humanity surely 
calls upon every one to comfort the sick and not to add 
to their affliction by alarming their fears. A friend or 
even a physician may often do more good by a mild and 
sympathizing behavior than by medicine, and should 
never neglect to administer that greatest of all cordials — 
Hope — which is to the patient the Kaleidoscope of Life. 

OF GRIEF. 

Grief is the most destructive of all the passions. Its 
effects are permanent, and when it sinks deep into the 
mind it generally proves fatal. Anger and fear, being 
of a more violent nature, seldom last long; but grief 



OF THE PASSIONS. 299 

often changes into a fixed melancholy, which preys upon 
the spirits and wastes the constitution. This passion 
ought not to be indulged. It may generally be con- 
quered at the beginning; but when it has gained 
strength all attempts to remove it are vain. 

No person can prevent misfortunes in life : but it 
shows true greatness of mind to bear them with serenity. 
Many persons make a merit of indulging grief, and when 
misfortunes happen they obstinately refuse all consola- 
tion, till the mind, overwhelmed with melancholy, sinks 
under the load. Such conduct is not only destructive 
to health, but consistent with reason, religion, and com- 
mon sense. 

Change of ideas is as necessary for health as change 
of posture. When the mind dwells long upon one sub- 
ject, especially of a disagreeable nature, it hurts the 
whole functions of the body. Hence grief indulged 
spoils the digestion and destroys the appetite; by which 
means the spirits are depressed, the nerves relaxed, the 
bowels inflated with wind, and the humors, for want of 
fresh supplies of chyle, vitiated. Thus many an excel- 
lent constitution has been ruined by a family misfortune, 
or anything that occasions excessive grief. 

It is utterly impossible that any person of a dejected 
mind should enjoy health. Life may indeed be dragged 
out for a few years; but whoever would live to a good 
old age must be good-humored and cheerful. This in- 
deed is not altogether in our own power; yet our temper 
of mind, as well as o'ur actions, depend greatly upon 
ourselves. We can either associate with cheerful or 
melancholy companions, mingle in the amusements and 
offices in life, or sit still and brood over our calamities 
as we choose. These, and many such things, are cer- 



300 OF THE PASSIONS. 

tainly in our power, and from these the mind generally 
takes its cast. 

The variety of scenes which present themselves to 
the senses-, were certainly designed to prevent our at- 
tention from being too long fixed upon any one subject. 
Nature abounds with variety, and the mind, unless fixed 
down by habit, delights in contemplating new objects. 
This at once points out the method of relieving the mind 
in distress. Turn the attention frequently to new ob- 
jects. Examine them for some time. When the mind 
begins to recoil, shift the scene. By this means a con- 
stant succession of new ideas may be kept up, till the 
disagreeable ones entirely disappear. Thus travelling, 
the study of any art or science, reading or writing on 
such subjects as deeply engage the attention, will sooner 
expel grief than the most sprightly amusements. 

It has already been observed, that the body cannot be 
healthy unless it be exercised ; neither can the mind. 
Indolence nourishes grief. When the mind has nothing 
else to think of but calamities, no wonder that it dwells 
there. Few people who pursue business with attention 
are hurt by grief. Instead, therefore, of abstracting 
ourselves from the world or business when misfortunes 
happen, we ought to engage in it with more than usual 
attention, to discharge with double diligence the func- 
tions of our station, and to mix with friends of a cheerful 
and social temper. 

Innocent amusements are by no means to be neglected. 
These, by leading the mind insensibly to the contempla- 
tion of agreeable objects, help to dispel the gloom which 
misfortunes cast over it. They make time seem less 
tedious, and have many other happy effects. 

Some persons, when overwhelmed with grief, betake 



OF THE PASSIONS. 301 

themselves to drinking. This is making the cure worse 
than the disease. It seldom fails to end in the ruin of 
fortune, character, and constitution. 



OF LOVE. 

Love is perhaps the strongest of all the passions ; at 
least, when it becomes violent, it is less subject to the 
control either of the understanding or will than any of 
the rest. Fear, anger, and several other passions, are 
necessary for the preservation of the individual; but 
love is necessary for the continuation of the species 
itself: it was therefore proper that this passion should 
be deeply rooted in the human breast. 

Though love be a strong passion, it is seldom so rapid 
in its progress as several of the others. Few persons 
fall desperately in love all at once. We would, therefore, 
advise every one, before he tampers with this passion, to 
consider well the probability of his being able to obtain 
the object of his wishes. When that is not likely, he 
should avoid every occasion of increasing it. He ought 
immediately to flee the company of the beloved object ; 
to apply his mind attentively to business or study ; to 
take every kind of amusement; and, above all, to en- 
deavor, if possible, to find another object which may 
engage his affections, and which it may be in his power 
to obtain. 

There is no passion with which people are so ready to 
tamper as love, although none is more dangerous. Some 
men make love for amusement, others for mere vanity, 
or on purpose to show their consequence with the fair. 
Tli is is perhaps the greatest piece of cruelty which any 
one can be guilty of. What we eagerly wish for we 



302 OF THE PASSIONS. 

easily credit. Hence the too credulous fair are often 
betrayed into a situation which is truly deplorable, before 
they are able to discover that the pretended lover was 
only in jest. But there is no jesting with this passion. 
When love has got to a certain height, it admits of no 
other cure but the possession of its object, which in this 
case ought always, if possible, to be obtained. 

OF RELIGIOUS MELANCHOLY. 

Many persons of a religious turn of mind behave as if 
they thought it a crime to be cheerful. They imagine 
the whole of religion consists in certain mortifications or 
denying themselves the smallest indulgence, even of the 
most innocent amusements. A perpetual gloom hangs 
over their countenances, while the deepest melancholy 
preys upon their minds. At length the fairest prospects 
vanish, everything puts on a dismal appearance, and 
those very objects which ought to give delight, afford 
nothing but disgust. Life itself becomes a burden and 
the unhappy wretch, persuaded that no evil can equal 
what he feels, often puts an end to his miserable exist- 
ence. 

It is a great pity that ever religion should be so far 
perverted as to become the cause of those very evils 
which it was designed to cure. Nothing can be better 
calculated than true religion to raise and support the 
mind of its votaries under every affliction that can befall 
them. It teaches men that even the sufferings of this 
life are preparatory to the happiness of the next, and that 
all who persist in a course of virtue shall at length arrive 
at complete felicity. 

Persons whose business it is to recommend religion to 



OF THE PASSIONS. 303 

others, should beware of dwelling too much on gloomy 
subjects. That peace and tranquillity of mind which 
true religion is calculated to inspire, is a more powerful 
argument in its favor than all the terrors that can be 
uttered. Terror may indeed deter men from outward 
acts of wickedness, but can never inspire them with that 
love of God and real goodness of heart in which alone 
true religion consists. 

To conclude : the best way to counteract the violence 
of any passion, is to keep the mind closely engaged in 
some useful pursuit. 



All men ought to be acquainted with the medical art. 
— I believe that knowledge of medicine is the sister and 
companion of wisdom. 



Receipt for Chapped Hands. — Linseed oil, one pint ; 
rosin, three ounces ; mix, put on the fire, and stir until 
well mixed. 



By various sports, 
Oe'r hills, through valleys, and by rivers' brink 
Is life both sweeten'd and prolong'd. 



Suppers great will the stomach's peace impair. 
Wouldst lightly rest; curtail thine evening fare. 



If thou wilt be healthful make thyself old betimes. 



304 WATER. 



WATER. 



How to Test the Purity of Water. — It is of importance 
to be able to test the quality of water, not only when for 
special purposes absolutely pure water is required, but 
even in cases where such purity is not requisite it may 
be of great interest to ascertain of what the impurities 
consist. The following short notice of the tests for the 
most commonly occurring impurities will be welcome 
and useful to many of our readers. 

Pure water must satisfy the following conditions: — 

1. It must have no residue whatever when evaporated 
in a clear porcelain or platina dish. 

2. It must form no precipitate with a solution of 
nitrate of silver which would indicate common salt, some 
other chloride or hydrochloric acid. 

3. It must not precipitate with a solution of chloride 
of barium, which would indicate a sulphate or sulphuric 
acid. 

4. It must form no precipitate with exhalate of ammo- 
nia, as this would indicate some soluble salt of lime. 

5. It must not assume any dark or other shade of color 
when passing sulphuretted hydrogen gas through it or 
mixing it with the solution of a sulphide salt, as this 
would indicate the presence of lead, iron, or some other 
metal. 

6. It must not become milky by the addition of lime- 
water or a clear solution of sugar of lead, as this would 
indicate carbonic acid. 

7. It must not discolor by adding solutions of corrosive 
sublimate, chloride of gold, or sulphate of zinc, which 



WATER. 305 

discoloring would indicate the presence of organic sub- 
stances. When boiling water with chloride of gold, the 
least trace of organic matter will reduce the gold and 
color the water brown. 



RESULTS OF THESE TESTS. 

1. Almost all spring waters are found to leave a resi- 
due upon evaporation. 

2. Common salt is not only found in most springs and 
rivers, but even in rain-water, many miles inland, when 
the wind blows from the ocean. 

3. Sulphuric acid and sulphates are found in many 
springs. The Oak Orchard Spring, N. Y., for instance, 
is very rich in the free acid. 

4. Waters from lime regions all contain lime in large 
quantities, and, in fact, this is the most common im- 
purity of spring-waters. 

' 5. Iron is contained in large quantity in the so-called 
chalybeate springs ; also copper and other metals are 
encountered; lead, incidentally, by the lead, tubes through 
which it often is made to pass. 

6. Carbonic acid is the most common impurity, even 
distilled water is not always free from it. Water will 
naturally absorb carbonic acid gas from the atmosphere, 
which latter always contains it ; its principal source of 
supply being derived from the exhalations of man and 
animals. 

7. Organic substances are often found in the water of 
running brooks, streams, and rivers, and are, of course, 
obtained from the vegetation and animal life in the water 
itself, and from the shores along which it floats. 

20 



306 WATER. 



REMARKS. 



1. The healthfulness of water depends on the nature 
of the residue left after evaporation ; for many chemical 
and other operations, where absolutely pure water is 
required, the leaving of residue at once proves the water 
unfit for use. 

2. The existence of small quantities of common salt 
in the water is not objectionable, it being not injurious 
to health. 

3. Sulphuric acid and sulphates may be objectionable 
for daily use ; however, such waters are used medically 
to stop diarrhoea and excessive tendency to perspiration. 

4. Lime-waters do not agree with some constitutions, 
producing diarrhoea and divers disturbances ; very small 
quantities of lime, however, are not injurious. 

5. Iron is healthy, and is a tonic ; in fact, this metal 
and manganese are the only ones which may be used in 
large doses, not only with impunity, but even with bene- 
fit; however, there is also a limit. Overdoses of iron 
may produce diarrhoea and slight eruptions of the skin, 
or pimples. 

6. Carbonic acid is not objectionable when drinking 
the water ; on the contrary, it makes it more palatable, 
and most mineral waters owe their reputation to this 
substance. 

7. Organic substances are perhaps the most objection- 
able, principally when decaying : such waters may even 
propagate diseases, and require careful filtering or boil- 
ing, or both, to make them fit for internal consumption. 



He that goes to bed thirsty rises healthy. 



THE BEST FOOD. 307 



THE BEST FOOD. 



The best food for man to live upon is that which is 
simple, nourishing, without either heating, or acrimonious 
properties ; and the principal rule to be observed with 
respect to food in general, is, to eat and drink whole- 
some things in proper quantities. As from the common 
experience of ages, almost all the aliment in common 
use has been found wholesome, a moderate and healthy 
individual need not much alarm himself in partaking of 
such. At the same time it must be observed that there 
is an obvious rule which will set every one right in the 
selection of his food. Let him observe what agrees with 
his constitution and what does not, and his experience 
and judgment will direct him to the use of the one, and 
the invariable rejection of the other. As relates to 
quantity, the rule is, to take just such a proportion as 
will be sufficient to support and nourish him, but not 
such as will, in the least degree, overload the stomach 
and render digestion difficult. In this, as was intimated 
on a former occasion, every individual has a sure guide, 
if he will be directed by a natural, and not a depraved, 
appetite ; for whenever he has eaten of any proper food, 
to the extent required by his appetite, and finishes his 
meal with some relish for more, he has eaten a proper 
quantity. That a man may not be deceived — that he 
may satisfy himself that he has committed no excess 
— if immediately after dinner he can write, or walk, or 
go about his ordinary, or any other, business with ease 
and pleasure — if, after supper, his sleep be neither dis- 
turb* d nor diminished by what lie has eaten or drank, 



308 THE BEST FOOD. 

and if he has no headache nor sickness the next morning 
— nor any uncommon hawking or spitting, nor a bad 
taste in his month, but rises at his usual hour, refreshed 
and cheerful, and with a renewed appetite — he may then 
justly conclude that his diet has been well regulated, and 
that he has not exceeded, either in eating or drinking, 
the bounds of temperance. 



Woman's Temper. — One of the most important female 
qualities is sweetness of temper. Heaven did not give 
to woman insinuation and persuasion in order to be surly ; 
it did not give them a sweet voice in order to be em- 
ployed in scolding. 



The Power of Idleness. — It is a mistake to imagine that 
only the violent passions, such as ambition and love, can 
triumph over the rest. Idleness, languid as she is, often 
masters them all, she indeed influences all our designs 
and actions, and insensibly consumes and destroys both 
passions and virtues. 



Modesty. — A young lady, on being asked which was 
the most beautiful color, answered — that of modesty. 



Wines rich and heavy that are both sweet and white, 
The size of body increase, and e'en its might. 



DANGER OF INDISCRIMINATE FEASTING. 309 



DANGER OF INDISCRIMINATE FEASTING. 

It has been well said, that man seems to think himself 
an omniverous animal — that he is entitled to consume, 
waste, and destroy all the produce of the globe ; but if 
penalty implies unlawfulness, surely this all-devouring 
claim, on the exercise of which so heavy a penalty is laid, 
cannot be established — a penalty which involves the 
racks and tortures of disease, and is consummated by 
untimely death ! This wanton spoliation, .then, is not as 
venial an offence as sensuality would imagine, since it 
accumulates a sum of evil, at which contemplation is 
appalled. 



In Neustria's fields sweet pears and apples grow 
And wines and liquors armed with fiery glow, 
Partake of them as. oft as you prefer 
And health and flesh on you they will confer. 



New wines inflame the breast, the veins excite, 
Injure the brain and have a burning might. 
Dark wines are quickest to intoxicate, 
To burn, destroy, as well as constipate. 



Men consume too much Food, and too little pure Air : 
they take too much Medicine, and too little Exercise. 



310 MARRIAGE MAXIMS. 

MARRIAGE MAXIMS. 

A good wife is the greatest earthly blessing. A man 
is what his wife makes him. It is the mother who 
moulds the character and destiny of the child. 

Make marriage a matter of moral judgment. 

Marry in your own religion. 

Marry into a different blood and temperament from your 
own. 

Marry into a family which you have long known. 

Never talk at one another, either alone or in company. 

Never both manifest anger at once. 

Never speak loud to one another, unless the house is 
on fire. 

Never reflect on a past action, which was done with a 
good motive, and with the best judgment at the time. 

Let each one strive to yield to the wishes of the other. 

Let self-abnegation be the daily aim and effort of each. 

The very nearest approach to domestic felicity on earth 
is the mutual cultivation of an absolute unselfishness. 

Never find fault unless it is perfectly certain that a 
fault has been committed ; and even then prelude it with 
a kiss, and lovingly. 

Never taunt with a past mistake. 

Neglect the whole world beside, rather than one an- 
other. 

Never allow a request to be repeated. 

" I forgot" is never an acceptable excuse. 

Never make a remark at the expense of the other, it 
is a meanness. 

Never part for a day without loving words to think of 

during absence ; besides, you may not meet again in life. 

They who marry for physical characteristics will fail 

of happiness ; they who marry for traits of mind and 



MARRIAGE MAXIMS. 311 

heart will never fail of perennial springs of domestic en- 
joyment. 

They are safest who marry from the stand-point of 
sentiment rather than from that of feeling, passion, or 
mere love. 

The beautiful in heart is a million times of more avail 
in securing domestic enjoyment, than the beautiful in 
person or manners. 

Do not herald the sacrifices you make to each other's 
tastes, habits, or preferences. 

Let all your mutual accommodations be spontaneous, 
whole-souled, and free as air. 

A hesitating, tardy, or grum yielding to the wishes of 
the other, always grates upon a loving heart, like Milton's 
" gates on rusty hinges turning." 

Whether present or absent, alone or in company, speak 
up for one another, cordially, earnestly, lovingly. 

If one is angry, let the other part the lips only to give 
a kiss. 

Never deceive, for the heart once misled can never 
wholly trust again. 

Consult each other in all that comes within the ex- 
perience, and observation, and sphere of the other. 

Give your warmest sympathies for each other's trials. 

Never question the integrity, truthfulness, or religious- 
ness of one another. 

Encourage one another in all the depressing circum- 
stances under which you may be placed. 

By all that can actuate a good citizen, by all that can 
melt the heart of pity, by all that can move a parent's 
bosom, by every claim of a common humanity, see to it 
that at least one party shall possess strong, robust, 
vigorous health of body and brain ; else let it be a mar- 
riage of spirit with spirit ; that only ; and no further. 



312 A CORRECT THEORY OF DIGESTION. 



A CORRECT THEORY OF DIGESTION. 

Healthy digestion is a vital process, to which chemi- 
cal and mechanical forces contribute. 

While the motion of the walls of the stomach is 
necessary to mingle its contents, and while the chemical 
solvency of the gastric juice is indispensable, both of 
these combined cannot produce the true chyme. This 
chyme, into which every kind of food is transformed, 
can be produced nowhere outside of the stomach. In 
this respect chyme is like other products of the body. 
We may learn all the constituents of the saliva, or the 
bile, but we can produce neither of them outside of the 
body. That mysterious force which we call vital is the 
force which determines all. Chemistry and mechanics 
play their part; but the all-determining, guiding, and 
controlling power is the vital force. 



You should make every event the occasion of improve- 
ment, and you will find 

" Books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 

" Spend no moment but in purchase of its worth, 
And what its worth, ask death-beds, they can tell." 



Money makes the gay lady: but virtue the noble 
woman. 



ACTIVE AND LABORIOUS YOUTH. 313 



ACTIVE AND LABORIOUS YOUTH. 

It appears that all those who attained to a great age 
were men who, in their youth, had been much accustomed 
to labor and fatigue : such as soldiers, sailors, and day- 
laborers. I shall here mention only Mittelstadt, that 
veteran of 112, who in his fifteenth year was a servant, 
and in his eighteenth a soldier ; and who was present 
in all the Prussian wars, from the commencement of the 
monarchy. 

A youth spent in that manner, becomes the foundation 
of a long and a strong life, two ways : partly by giving 
the body that degree of strength and solidity which is 
necessary for its duration ; and partly by making that 
possible which principally contributes to promote happi- 
ness and longevity, advancement to a better and more 
agreeable situation. He who in his youth has every 
convenience and enjoyment in abundance has nothing 
more to expect ; he is deprived of the best means of 
exciting and preserving the vital power, hope, and the 
prospect of a better condition. If he be condemned 
then with increasing years to poverty and difficulties, he 
finds himself doubly oppressed ; and the duration of his 
life must be necessarily shortened. But in the transition 
from a state of misery to one more fortunate, lies a con- 
tinual source of new joy, new vigor, and new life. In 
the like manner, the passage, with increasing years, from 
;i caw, cold climate, to one more mild, contributes much 
\n prolong life ; as also the change from a state of labor 
to one more convenient and agreeable. 



314 ABSTINENCE FROM PHYSICAL LOVE IN YOUTH. 



ABSTINENCE FROM PHYSICAL LOVE IN 
YOUTH, 

AND A TOO EARLY ASSUMPTION OF THE MARRIED STATE. 

He who in Pleasure's downy arms 
Ne'er lost his health or youthful charms, 
A hero lives ; and justly can 
Exclaim, " In me behold a man !' 

He prospers like the slender reed 
Whose top waves gently o'er the mead ; 
And moves, such blessings virtue follow, 
In health and beauty an Apollo. 

That power divine, which him inspires, 
His breast with noblest passions fires ; 
These heavenward soar with eagle-flight, 
And spurn the cold, dark realms of night. 

So full of majesty, a god, 
Shall earth alone be his abode \ 
With dignity he steps, he stands, 
And nothing fears ; for he commands. 

Like drops drawn from the crystal stream, 
His eyes with pearly brilliance beam ; 
With blushing signs of health o'erspread, 
His cheeks surpass the morning's red. 

The fairest of the female train 
For him shall bloom, nor bloom in vain : 
O happy she whose lips he presses ! 
O happy she whom he caresses ! 



THE GLUTTON - . 315 



THE GLUTTON. 

A temperate diet has always been attended with the 
best effects. A regular attention to this practice is the 
only infallible nostrum for the prevention of disease. 
It is sometimes essential for those who are under the 
necessity of having their minds always on the watch, 
to be extremely temperate ; hence the gallant defender 
of Gibraltar (Elliot, Lord Heathfield)> lived for eight 
days during the siege, taking only four ounces of rice 
per day as solid food. Dr. Franklin, when a journey- 
man printer, lived for a fortnight on bread and water, 
at the rate of ten pounds of bread per week, and he 
found himself stout and hearty with his diet A respect- 
able magistrate has related of himself that at the age of 
seventy he was free from every bodily complaint, and had 
never paid five shillings a year for medicine, which he 
attributed to his having restricted himself to fourteen 
ounces a day of solid food. And the number of indi- 
gent people who have lived to a great age, is a proof of 
the justness of Lord Bacon's observation, that intem- 
perance of some kind or other destroys the bulk of man- 
kind : and that life may be sustained by a very scanty 
portion of nourishment. An eminent British army 
physician (Dr. Jackson), on this subject, says: "I have 
wandered a good deal about the world, and never fol- 
lowed any prescribed rule in anything ; my health has 
been tried in all ways ; and by the aids of temperance 
and hard work I have worn out two armies, in two 
wars, and probably would wear out another before my 
period of old age arrives; I eat no animal food, drink 



316 THE GLUTTON. 

no wine or malt liquors, or spirits of any kind; I wear 
no flannel, and neither regard wind nor rain, heat nor 
cold, where business is in the way." Such is the pro- 
tecting power of temperance. 



The wife that expects to have a good name, 
Is always at home, as if she were lame ; 
And the maid that is honest, her chiefest delight 
Is still to be doing from morning to night. 



To enjoy life in the true sense of the term, is to commit 
no act but what we know, from a critical examination of 
its effects upon the system, will tend to preserve and 
invigorate the powers both of mind and body. 



Friendship. — Of all felicities, how charming is that of 
a firm and gentle friendship ! It sweetens our cares, 
softens our sorrows, and assists us in extremities. It is 
a sovereign antidote against calamities. 



Most men are preparing how to live, but, alas ! not how 
to die. Let such bear in mind, that all who are profligate 
of their means in summer must perish in winter — for 
there is no probation in eternity. 



LONGEVITY. 317 



LONGEVITY. 



We derive the following from a work very little known 
even to the medical reader : — 

" Richard Lloyd, born two miles from Montgomery, 
was aged one hundred and thirty-three years within two 
months — a strong, straight, and upright man — wanted 
no teeth, had no gray hair, it all being of a darkish- 
brown color ; could hear well, and read without specta- 
cles; fleshy and full cheeked, and the calves of his legs 
not wasted or shrunk ; he could talk well ; he was of a 
tall stature ; his food was bread, cheese, and butter, for 
the most part, and his drink whey, butter-milk, or water, 
and nothing else ; but being by a neighbor gentlewoman 
persuaded to eat flesh meat and drink malt liquors, soon 
fell off and died. He was a poor laboring man in hus- 
bandry, etc. To the truth of this, the copy of the 
register produced affirmed it." 

The good lady above mentioned no doubt thought that 
this old man ought to have more nourishing and 
strengthening food than what had so long preserved him 
in excellent health. It is thus with the world generally. 
In the very face of the plainest experience people force 
their nostrums, and their good dishes, and nice cordials 
on a complaining friend, who, becoming worse under 
this kind' icss, is, after a while, transferred to the hands 
of the doctor; as if it were in the power of any man, 
however learned and skilful, to remove, by the aid of 
a few drugs, the effect of years of sensual indulgences. 

The author closes his notices of longevity by the 



318 LONGEVITY. 

following forcible, though somewhat quaint reproach to 
his contemporaries : — 

" A hundred examples of this kind may be found to 
confirm the doctrine of temperance and cool diet as 
necessary to the prolongation of life; but if an angel 
from heaven should come down and preach it, one bottle 
of Burgundy would be of more force with this claret- 
stewed generation than ten tuns of arguments to the 
contrary, though never so demonstrable and divine." 



Neither speak well nor ill of yourself. If well, men 
will not believe you; if ill, they will believe a great 
deal more than you say. 

He who repeats the ill he hears of another, is the 
true slanderer. 

A lie, though it promise good, will do the harm ; and 
truth will do the good at the last. 

Consider well, and oft, why thou comest into this 
world, and how soon thou must go out of it. 



Maids want nothing but husbands ; and when they have 
them, they want everything. 

The obedience of a wife to her husband, is loyalty to 
a sovereign, and submission to God. 

There is one good wife in the country, and every man 
thinks he hath her. 



Sincere Flattery. — Those who imitate us in our actions 
and sayings are the sincerest of flatterers. 



BODILY EXERCISE IN EARLY LIFE. 319 



BODILY EXERCISE IN EARLY LIFE. 

To fetter the active motions of children, as soon as 
they have acquired the use of their limbs, is a barbarous 
opposition to nature ; and to do so, under a pretence of 
improving their minds and manners, is an insult to 
common sense. It may, indeed, be the way to train up 
enervated puppets or short-lived prodigies of learning; 
but never to form .healthy, well-informed, and accom- 
plished men or women. Every feeling individual must 
behold, with much heart-felt concern, poor little puny 
creatures of eight, ten, or twelve years of age, exhibited 
by their silly parents as proficients in learning, or as 
distinguished for their early proficiency in languages, 
elocution, music, drawing, or even some frivolous acquire- 
ment. The strength of the mind, as well as of the body, 
is exhausted, and the natural growth of both is checked 
by such untimely exertions. We are far from discour- 
aging the early introduction of youth into the sweet and 
even moralizing society of the Muses and the Graces ; but 
we would have them pay their court also to the Goddess 
of Health, and spend a considerable portion of their time, 
during tho above period at least, in innocent and en- 
livening sports and gambols. 



"When a couple are newly married, the first month is 
honey-moon, or smick-smack ; the second is, hither and 
thither; the third is, thick-thwack; the fourth, the 
devil take them that brought thee and me together. 



320 



THE KING OF KINGS. 




THE KING OF KINGS. 



DEATH'S GRAND REVIEW. 



Man builds the Pyramid, the ant its hill; — 
And this perhaps the wonder of the two : 
Yet more I marvel that creation's lord 
Should ape the grandeur of creative power, 
And rear the sculptured mountains but to show 
His own contrasted littleness. Vain fool ! 
Could he outlive the simorg's countless years, 
And close, like that his dreamy eyes on me, 
What were his wisdom % I and hoary Time 
Mine old coadjutor, at last must sweep 
Him and his wonder works, alike to earth. 
Pale pining atrophy, and bloat disease ; 
Murder, grim casualty, and penal blood ; 
Immedicable anguish, stealing life, 
Drop — drop by drop ; phrenetic suicide, 
Wide-wasting war, and sap-consuming age — 
These are the minions that attend my power ; 



THE KING OF KINGS. 321 

And pride, ambition — all must bow to them, 

Down to the dust. Man's grasping mind may pile 

Pelions on Ossas, and, with giant stride, 

Strive at the inaccessible ; — my hand 

Shall hurl the huge recoiling mountains back, 

And whelm him in the ruin. When I climb 

Tis by an escalade of thrones on thrones — 

But these must sink at last ;— nay, all alike — 

Men — cities — nations — pass, in turn, away. 

A shapeless mound is all of Babylon : 

Tyre — Sydon — Carthage — vapors long exhaled : 

The proud Acropolis, the eye of Greece, 

Is dim with age : the city of the sun, 

Old Thebes, is silent ; for its hundred gates 

AVere never barred against the flood of time ; 

E'en phoenix Rome on half its ashes sleeps — 

[Sees a Doctor. 
My Doctor ! 

DOCTOR. 

My liege ! — where hast thou been? 

DEATH. 

Amongst the catacombs, where I have heaped 
My mummied treasures ; and in many a vast 
Necropolis, my cities of the dead ; 
And through the sepulchres of kings, where now 
Moulder alike their sceptres and their bones : 
And I have visited my harvest fields 
Of Marathon, and Leuctra, and Platea; 
Cannae, Pharsalia, and the thousands more 
Which nameless millions have manured with bldod, 
21 



322 THE KING OF KINGS. 

Scenes of my glory, where I warred on war, 

Omnipotent — sole victor — and the last 

Sole refuge of the vanguished ; for I love 

Seats of the long-succeeding Pharaohs, or 

The more imperial Caesars, from whose brows 

I spurn the shivered diadems to dust. 

What have I done ! how much remains to do ! 

Where'er I've trod, all sleep the sleep profound ; 

But I am restless, and must never sleep 

Till all shall wake : and this brief episode 

In the vast history of the universe, 

Shall be out-blotted, as a needless thing. 

If aught could move my lipless jaws to mirth, 

'Twould be to see these creatures of an hour 

Fanning the flame of glory till the fire 

Consumes themselves ; — how glorious to become 

Unconscious of the honors they have won ! — 

To carve their names in granite, and exchange 

The breath of life for stones, o'er which decay 

Soon throws the shadow of its dusty veil ! 

Yet all this works to one great end of mine. 

Red is the soil where grows the laurel-tree, 

That Upas of the earth, round which men fall 

In undistinguished multitudes; — for why 1 ? 

Just or unjust the cause, I reck it not; 

Yet greatest oft the bale when cause is least : 

Torrents of grief have flowed for Victory's smile ; 

Oceans of blood for Beauty's single tear, 

Some few have been of merited renown 

In war and peace, whose deeds shall long survive, 

Like mighty swimmers 'gainst the stream of time ; 

To whet mine appetite with old exploits 

That stimulate to new. Then I have made 



THE KING OF KINGS. 323 

Long journeys on the hot sirocco's wings, 
To feast me in the cities of the plague ; 
And I have ridden on the red simoon, 
Across the stifled desert, and have swept 
The ocean's bosom and with lightning's blast, 
Gulphing whole navies in the yawning deep : 
On shore I have beheld the troubled earth 
Heaving around me ; and the tumbling dome, 
The reeling column, and the staggering tower 
All drunk with ruin ; whilst I, sole, bestrode 
The sudden mountain and the black abyss. 
But wherefore thus recount where I have been ? 
Where have I not been present 1 what have not done 
For thee, lov'cl ones — Come to my arms ! 
Ah Doctor 1 give to me thy healing hand ; 
Nay, shrink not ; though it should be mine at last, 
Despite thy skill; and though oft my touch 
May meet with thine amidst thy busiest hours ; 
Yet shall my grasp ne'er freeze thy glowing blood, 
Till I myself prepare to lift the crown 
From off my brow, and, with my sceptre broke, 
Recline me, with thee and thy fellow-men, 
Beneath the fragments of the ruined world, 
The only fitting Monument of Death. 



Xo false pride, or foolish ambition to appear as well 
as others, should ever induce a person to live beyond the 
income of which he is certain. 

If most married women possessed as much prudence as 
they do vanity, we should find many husbands far hap- 
pier. 



324 death's grand review. 



DEATH'S GRAND REVIEW. 

Upon his fearful throne, with sceptr'd hand, 
The grizzly tyrant sat and gave command; 
The peasant and the prince — the rich and poor, 
The Jew, the Turk, the dandy, and the boor; 
The virtuous, and the villain steep'd in crime, 
The wise man, and the fool of every clime, 
The heartless coward, and the rashly brave, 
The frowning despot, and the servile slave, 
The deaf, the dumb, the bright-eyed and the blind, 
The good and bad, both man and womankind, 
The proud, the meek, the homely, and the fair, 
Were all, by Death's decree commingled there. 

First, War appear'd with thousands in his train 
Of those, by flood and field, in battle slain ; 
His head was bare, but in his dexter hand, 
With fearful strength he grasp'cl a glittering brand, 
Its jewel'd hilt, and blade besmear'd with gore ; 
His other hand a plumeless helmet bore ; 
He bow'd to Death, and then file after file 
Pass'd on beneath the tyrant's ghastly smile, 
A horrid sight ; but in the fleshless face 
Of that grim monster, none could pity trace. 
Kings, emperors, sultans, satrapse, and sheiks, 
Czars, rajahs, Csesars, Incas, and caciques, 
Were, with the hosts by them to battle led, 
Before the mighty conq'ror marshalled ; 
But all divested was each noble brow 
Of majesty and glittering cor'net now, 



death's grand review. 325 

No war notes rung — no silken banners spread 
Their folds above this gath'ring of the dead : 
No falchion'd hand, nor cuirass-guarded breast, 
Nor vizor'd helm, nor shield, nor plumed crest 
Was there — no steed impatient for the fray, 
With clang of armor join'd his furious neigh; 
No mail-clad warrior now to battle rush'd — 
But all was silence, all was deeply hush'd, 
As was old Chaos ere the Almighty spoke, 
"Let there be light!" and on the darkness broke 
Day's glorious splendor, ushering to birth 
Blue-bosom'd ocean, boundless heaven,. and earth: 
Death grinn'd a hideous smile, he laugh'd aloud, 
When to their tombs had passed this motley crowd. 

Foul Pestilence, with her fever'd eye and brow, 
As led she on her tens of thousands, now 
In servile manner lowly bow'd her head, 
And screaming wildly pointed to the dead, 
The rich and poor, the cit, and savage wild, 
The hoary-headed, and the lisping child, 
Of every color, black, and brown, and fair, 
With haggard features congregated there : 
Death smil'd again, wav'd high his bony hand, 
And onward pass'd this wan and hideous band. 

Gaunt Famine next appear'd with visage wan, 
And having bent the knee to Death, pass'd on; 
Bei skinny fingers held a flcshless bone, 
Which ever and anon with plaintive moan 
She wildly gnaw'd, but 'twas a banquet mean, 
For naught was left for her from thence to glean; 
1I<t bony hands with talons long unpar'd, 



326 death's grand review. 

Were like a vulture's claws ; and madness glar'd 
Out from her dark and rolling eye, as in despair 
She fiercely pluck'd her locks of raven hair, 
And cast them from her with a fiendish yell 
That startled e'en the howling imps of hell. 
The young and old were there of every grade, 
The gray-hair'd matron, and the modest maid; 
The youthful mother, once so fair and mild, 
Who'd fiercely fed upon her new-born child, 
And savage men, who for a time had fed, 
To lengthen life, upon the famish'd dead ; 
The wealthy too, but riches could not save, 
The king and beggar fill'd a common grave : 
These pass'd along, and smiling Death look'd on 
Their shadowy figures, and their features wan. 

War, Pestilence, and Famine, each could boast 

Her untold thousands ; but the myriad host 

That now in crowded ranks advanced score by score, 

Outnumber'd e'en the sands on ocean's shore : 

Intemperance vile, who now her legions led 

Before the tyrant king, and bow'd her head, 

Was clad in gorgeous vesture, and her hair 

Fell clown in ringlets o'er her bosom fair ; 

An opal rich her rosy forehead grac'd, 

A zone of jewels bright around her waist 

Was neatly clasp'd, and bound the silken vest 

Which lay in graceful folds upon her breast ; 

She bore upon her hand of matchless mould, 

A teeming goblet form'd of burnish'd gold ; 

She stood a shrine at which the bond and free 

Had blindly bent the meek and willing knee ; 

She knew her power — ah ! well her pow'r was prov'd, 



death's grand review. 327 

As there her countless victims onward mov'd : 
And grizzly Death, with all approving smile, 
Delighted gaz'd upon their forms the while. 

Next, callous-hearted Murder stalk'd along, 
Bow'd low to Death, and show'd his bloody throng ; 
Arm'd with the poison'd cup and deadly knife, 
His all-polluted hands with gore were rife; 
His robe was spotted o'er with crimson stains, 
And here and there dark gouts of blood and brains 
Hung on his iron limbs and frowning brow, 
And ne'er look'd fiend of hell as Murder now : 
His victims pass'd, the tyrant smil'd again, 
As gaz'd he on this wild and bloody train. 

Next enter'd Suicide, with thoughtless brow, 
And having to the tyrant made her bow, 
Led forth her legions — what a sight was there ! 
The once gay youth, endow'd with talents rare, 
And every grade, of every clime and hue, 
Pass'd on, and clos'd the Tyrant's Grand Review. 



Requited Loce. — What words can be more delightful to 
the human ear than the unexpected effusions of gene- 
rosity and affection from a benevolent woman'? A gentle- 
man, after great misfortunes, came to a lady he had long 
courted, and told her his circumstances were so reduced, 
that he was actually in want of five guineas. — " I am 
glad to hear it," said she. — " Is this your affection for 
me V 1 lie replied in a tone of despondency, "why are you 
glad V " Because (answered she) if you want five guineas, 
I can give you five thousand !" 



328 AN AUXILIARY OF DEATH. 



AN AUXILIARY OF DEATH. 

It was in the tranquil reign of , when neither 

war, pestilence, nor famine swept the subjects of his 
kingdom from the face of the earth, that the grim Mon- 
arch of the tomb began to think himself defrauded of 
his rights, and to devise how to remedy the wrongs which 
he concluded had been inflicted upon him. 

And, first, he called before him his regulating agent, 
Old Father Time, upbraiding him with lengthening the 
years of the inhabitants of this favored empire, and espe- 
cially by unnaturally prolonging the duration of peace. 

With this Time said he had nothing to do, but that he 
could perhaps give a guess at one of the causes that kept 
this portion of the human race a longer period than here- 
tofore on earth. It was that a learned and skilful leech 
had succeeded in quelling a direful malady; and that not 
only this pestilent disorder, but others of a very malig- 
nant kind, had been greatly mitigated by the progress 
of knowledge which had of late years diminished the 
practice of medicine. 

At this information, Death cast a withering look 
around him, and, in a sepulchral tone, commanded some 
of the principal destroyers of the human race to appear 
in his presence. 

And now a low, but portentous sound was heard, as 
coming from a remote part of the cavern in which Death 



AX AUXILIARY OF DEATH. 329 

held his court, which gradually became more audible and 
terrrific, until a form, gigantic in size, and furious in 
aspect, stood revealed. The uproar which immediately 
preceded his approach resembled the discharge of artil- 
lery, the clashing of swords, and the shouts of combat, 
mixed with the groans of dying men. — It was the Demon 
of War. 

This fell destroyer was, however, soon dismissed, his 
readiness to serve was not at all questioned : and if 
Death had to complain of the want of supplies, "War had 
to grumble at his want of employment. He accordingly 
filed off with marks of approbation, and an assurance 
that his vacation would not last long. 

The phantom that next appeared was preceded by no 
sounds, but a chilling atmosphere seemed to invade even 
the chamber of Death, and the gaunt figure of Famine, 
with its meagre and wasted visage, stood before the uni- 
versal devastator of mankind. 

Upon being questioned why he had not visited the 
favored land, and given his powerful assistance in for- 
warding the works of the destroyer, he readily answered, 
that he acted only on commission, and by the decrees of 
a higher power. True, he had his substitutes, the mono- 
polists ; — somehow or other, however, their measures 
were defeated by the bounty of Providence or the vigilance 
of the government ; but he had an all-powerful friend 
and ally whom he would presently introduce, with the 
premission of his mighty Commander, who had already 
made no inconsiderable inroads on the human frame by 
mixing himself in every society, where he seldom failed in 



330 AN AUXILIARY OF DEATH. 

planting his baleful influence, and in accelerating the 
march to the tomb. 

Desirous of being acquainted with the ally and friend 
of Famine, Death gave instant orders for his admission ; 
and accordingly a low breathing was first heard, which 
gradually increased to deep sighs, and on a signal given 
by Famine, a figure started into view : his pace sudden 
and irregular, his looks eager and penetrating, his visage 
sallow and gaunt like that of his precursor, — and, hideous 
to relate, he was in the act of feeding upon a human 
heart, while the looks that he cast around him seemed to 
evince an insecurity of enjoyment of the hateful meal. 

The auxiliary now brought into the awful presence 
was Care, who, tremulous from anxiety, suspended for a 
while his operation of devouring, in obedience to the 
commands of so absolute an interrogator. 

In exhibiting his means to effect the destruction of 
the human race, he produced a mixture which had the 
power so to canker and corrode the heart it once entered, 
that neither wealth nor greatness could withstand its bale- 
ful influence ; and, while the fiend-like power was describ- 
ing the various characters that had sunk beneath the 
effects of this subtle poison, it seemed as if Care himself 
could be diverted from carefulness when ardently em- 
ployed. The details of his operations, and the artifices 
used by the afflicted parties to disguise their malady, 
threw a fitful gleam over the countenance of the grim 
tyrant, that gave a momentary emotion to his ghastly 
features ; but whether the expression was surprise, or 
triumphant malignity, was not easily determined. 



AN AUXILIARY OF DEATH. 331 

A pause of some length ensued, after which Care was 
permitted to touch, by way of approbation, the icy hand 
of Death, and to receive a regular commission enlisting 
him into the various forces employed in the destruction 
of the human species. Hence he carries on his opera- 
tion in courts, in camps, in the palace of the monarch, 
and in the cottage of the villager. But it is in civilized 
life, and amid scenes of leisure and retirement (where 
his presence is least suspected), that his power is mostly 
felt ; indeed, a laugh is no unfrequent disguise that his 
victims put on, and his place of concealment is often a 
bed of roses. 



Husband and Wife. — Among some who have read 
Blackstone, and more who have not, the erroneous and 
ungallant opinion prevails that a husband may chastise 
his wife, provided the weapon be not thicker than his 
little finger. For the benefit of the ladies, the informa- 
tion of the gentlemen, and the honor of our land, it 
should be known that this is not the law. There was a 
decision of our constitutional (supreme) court about 
thirteen years since pronounced by the late Judge Wilds, 
in the dignified sweetness of his noble spirit, in which 
he proclaimed the law on the subject, in the following 
graceful extract from the Honey Moon ; — 

" The man that lays his hand upon a woman, 
Save in the way of kindness, is a wretch 
Whom 'twere gross flattery to call a coward." 



As purified silver is to the silversmith, so is a pious 
wife to hci husband. 



332 DEATH AND HIS ALLIES. 



DEATH AND HIS ALLIES. 

'Tis said — and when we find in rhyme 

These words, to doubt them were a crime ; 

'Tis said — although I greatly fear 

I can't exactly tell you where, 

That Death one day began to think 

His trade was just upon the brink 

Of bankruptcy ; so few there came 

To his grim regions that he wanted game. 

He thought his labors nearly o'er, 
So little mischief was there brewing 
To save him, as it seemed, from ruin. 

" It was not thus," he cried, " of yore, 
When many a great and glorious fray 
Sent myriads to me in a day. 
But men are grown so chicken-hearted 
Since they with chivalry have parted, 
They will not venture now their lives, 
E'en for their better halves — their wives. 
But live so prudently and quiet, 
Without debauchery, war, or riot, 
That scarcely one per day arrives 
At this our court. It was not thus 
When great Achilles made such fuss ; 
When Alexander, Caesar, and a score 
Of others sent me ample store 
Of human victims, daily — duly — 
Those wholesale butchers whom I love so truly ! 
Nor was it thus when pious Mary, 
Of her dear subjects' lives ne'er chary, 



DEATH AND HIS ALLIES. 333 

Grilled heretics ; and for my dinner 

Served up full many a roasted sinner. 

Oh ! for some war — no matter what, 

Profane or pious — not a jot. 

Murder is but a retail trade. 

A petty, sneaking, smuggling game ; 

Tis not' by that my gains are made, 
But war and glory, honor, fame ! 

'Tis these who for me still prepare 

A plenteous banquet worth my care, 

But now — in truth 'tis very plain 

That I must try some aid to gain." 

He called; a numerous train appear 

T' espouse his cause — his mandates hear. 

Mars first of course vowed to stand by him ; 

And swore he only need to try him. 

" Go then ; but take the fair disguise 

Of Glory ; so we win the prize ! 

And cheat the world, and gain our ends, 

And each our honest trade commends — 

The fair — the coward — and the cruel. 

War ! — on my word, it is a jewel! 

But you, fair lady — what can you 

For Death, in these sad times, now do'?" 

" Sir," cried the dame — of winning mien, 

For fairer sure was never seen ; 
" Full many a good turn have I done ye, 
And many a noble prize have won ye. 
And, though I scorn myself to praise, 
A stanchcr friend, in all your days, 
AVas never Mars, nor wanton Bacchus — 
I like that jolly rogue Iacchus ! 
Nor notwithstanding all their toils, 
Have tiny e'er brought you richer spoils. 



334: DEATH AND HIS ALLIES. 

There's been some business, sir, between us — 

You can't forget, sure, your friend Venus'? 

And here's my comrade Mercury — 

A trustier dog you ne'er shall see. 

Also the worthy iEsculapius ; 

A very pretty sort of knave he is, 

Although he looks so meek and pious ; 

You know him well — and he'll stand by us." 

The leech now spoke, and said he'd pill all — 

And drug, and undertake to kill all — " 

Ills he'd have said, had not a cough 

Unlucky lopped the sentence off. 

At hearing him of killing speak, 

A ghastly smile o'erspread the cheek 

Of Deaths for very well he knew 

He'd kill diseases and — the patients too ; 

" Go, iEsculapius, then, be ready 

To take the form of Doctor ; 

Go, then, and London's walls shall see 

Your name, which there shall blazoned be." 

One now advanced with a book, — 

" Sir Death, your servant, — I'm a cook — 

Have done some service — Here, sir, look — 

Here are receipts and savory dishes 

That to your net will bring some fishes. 

I, with friend Bacchus and Sir Gout, 

Will never let your stock be out — 

I warrant me, we'll suit your wishes. 

Aye ; quite as well as Famine, Pest, 

Friend Mars — or any of the rest. 

As for old Nature, she is drowsy, 

But we — you sha'n't complain — we'll rouse ye. : 



DEATH AND HIS ALLIES. 335 

Honor stepped forth, and made his bow, 
His pistols showed, and with a vow 
Swore he would send him fools enow. 
Death grinned a smile of approbation, 
And thus addressed the convocation : 
" My best and worthiest friends, to you 
All praise and thanks from me are due. 
I know, Sir Mars, your noble spirit ; 
And Venus, well I prize your merit. 
With Honor, Glory, Mars, and Bacchus — 
Oh ! who shall dare now to attack us ! 
With Venus, Doctor, Mercury — 
Now the whole world I may defy ; 
Nor ought I too to overlook 
The services of Master Cook, 
Nor of Dame Fashion, who has sent 
At times a pretty compliment, 
A nice tid-bit, in gauzy drapery, 
Just fit to put into my apery. 
'Tis you, my stanch allies and friends, 
On whom success so much depends. 
Nature ! — with her I ne'er had plenty: 
Where she sends one, you send me twenty. 
Were't not for you, my noble peers, 
I should be greatly in arrears. 
More trusty friends I need not ask, 
To you I delegate the task 
To hunt me game — beneath your mask. 
Your merits are so great, I vow, 
I'd whom the preference to allow 
I hardly know, 
Or where the palm I should bestow. 



>36 DEATH AND HIS ALLIES. 

Which to prerer would much perplex, 
Then let take place the fairer sex ; 
And Venus, Honor, Glory, ye 
Shall my fair train of Graces be. 
Ye look so bright, ye are so winning, 
The world will ne'er desist from sinning. 
Then stir up lust, and war, and hate, 
And all the ministers of fate, 
Riot, and luxury, and vice, — 
Excuse my terms, not overnice — 
Thus mortals will my presence court, 
And fancy Death to be but sport." 



Domestic Bliss. — It is this sweet home feeling, this 
settled repose of affection in the domestic scene, that is, 
after all, the parent of the steadiest virtues and purest 
enjoyment. 

Domestic Bliss, that, like a harmless dove 

(Honor and sweet endearment keeping guard), 

Can centre in a little quiet nest 

All that desire would fly for thro' the earth ; 

That can, the world eluding, by itself 

A world enjoyed ; that wants no witnesses 

But its own sharers, and approving Heaven. 

That, like a flower, deep hid in rocky cleft, 

Smiles, though 'tis only looking at the sky. 



Guilt is generally afraid of light ; it considers dark- 
ness a natural shelter, and makes night the confidant of 
those actions which cannot be trusted to the tell-tale 
day. 



DEATH S REGISTER. 



337 




DEATH'S REGISTER. 



An ancient worthy, when of Man he wrote, 
Permitted me his Register to quote ; 
And as I know I cannot make a better, 
I'll quote it fairly, to the very letter : — 

" Man's bodie's like a house : his greater bones 
Are the main timber : and the lesser ones 
Are smaller splints ; his ribs are laths, daub'd o'er, 
Plaister'd with flesh and blood : his mouth's the doore 
His throat's the narrow entrie, and his heart 
Is the great chamber, full of curious art : 
His midriffe is a large partition-wall 
'Twixt the great chamber and the spacious hall : 
His stomach is the kitchen, where the meat 
ta often but half sod, for want of heat: 
His sulcne's a vessel, nature does allot 
To take the skumme that rises from the pot: 
His lungs are like the bellows, that respire 
In every office, quick'ning every fire: 
11^ nose the chimney is, whereby are vented 
Such fumes as with the bellows are augmented: 
His bowels are the sink, whose part's to drein 
All noisome tilth, and keep the kitchen clean: 
22 



338 death's register. 

His eyes are crystall windows clear and bright ; 

Let in the object, and let out the sight. 

And as the timber is, or great, or small, 

Or strong, or weak, 'tis apt to stand, or fall: 

Yet is the likeliest building, sometimes known 

To fall by obvious chances ; overthrown 

Oft-times by tempests, by the full-mouth'd blasts 

Of heaven ; sometimes by fire ; sometimes it wastes 

Through unadvis'd neglect ; put case the stuffe 

Were ruin-proofe, by nature strong enough 

To conquer time and age; put case it should 

Ne'er know an end, alas our leases would. 

What hast thou then, proud flesh and bloud, to boaste? 

Thy days are bad, at best ; but few, at most ; 

But sad at merriest ; and but weak at strongest ; 

Unsure at surest; and but short at longest." 



How to Choose a Good Husband. — When you see a 
young man of modest, respectful, retiring manners, not 
given to pride or vanity, he will make a good husband, 
for he will be the same to his wife after marriage that he 
was before. When you see a young man who would take 
a wife for the value of herself, and not for the sake of 
wealth, that man will make a good husband, for his affec- 
tion will not decrease, neither will he bring himself or his 
partner to want. Never make money an object of mar- 
riage ; if you do, depend upon it, as a balance for the 
good, you will get a bad husband. When you see a 
young man who is tender and affectionate, no matter 
what his circumstances in life are, he is really worth the 
winning ; take him who can, girls, he will make a good 
husband. 



LIFE S ASSURANCE. 



339 




LIFE'S ASSURANCE. 



Twas a wild dream ! — I had grown old- 
Dim was my aching sight — and cold — 
The blood that crept, in languid course, 
Through each dried vein. Tired Nature's force 
Was spent ; yet, yet I longed to live— - 
To mingle in earth's crowd — to give 
Another sigh, another tear, 
To those who were by kindred dear — 
To those my heart best loved. I wept, 
In the dark thought that Time had swept, 
Remorseless many a blooming flower, 
The sunshine of my spirit's hour 
Of happiness, away ! — Alone 
I wandered forth: no soothing tone — 
No blessing breathed, in accents dear — 
No " Speed thee, Heaven !" to charm and chccr- 
Was mine. I came — and went; a sigh 
Hailed me with its sad minstrelsy; 
Shrieks of despair the rude gale swelled, 
And demons of the night-storm yelled, 
At my departure. — Could it be — 
She, the beloved one! — where was She'? 



340 life's assurance. 

Ha ! 'twas a sudden flash ! that spire, 

Seen through the lightning's lurid fire, 

Had met my gaze before ! Deep, deep, 

In memory's page, awake, asleep 

It dwelt in sacred vividness, 

Through weal, through woe, my soul to bless. 

Mary ! — My vows ! — The bright, bright ray 

That shone upon our favored day — 

The joyous peal that on our ear 

Rang its glad changes, full and clear 

The words that, 'neath that sacred shrine, 

Proclaimed thee mine — for ever mine ! 

Yet sweetly haunted me — when, lo ! 

A change came o'er my dream of woe ! 

It was a rapid, sudden change, 

To darkness — mist — moonlight — a range 

Of mountains in the distance ; then 

A desert heath, from press of men 

Removed ; and then, a fitful sky . 

Of battling clouds — of anarchy — 

From which the moon, with sullen ray, 

Looked down on mortal man's decay. 

The place of tombs was frowning there ; 

Beneath that beam, so coldly fair, 

The bones of beauty, youth, and age, 

Were bleaching; winter's fiercest rage, 

And summer's gale — the breeze, the blast — 

O'er that lone scene unheeded passed, 

Nor waked the sleepers. 

Midnight dews — 
Damp graves — and night's pale flowers, diffuse 



life's assurance. 341 

A chilling sadness. Hark ! What sound 
Is that from yonder humble mound 
Of ungrassed earth \ 

What means that look — that piteous moan 1 ? 
Ah, 'tis a recent grave ! The stone- 
Sad land-mark, reared by hands of earth 
O'er the last home of buried worth — 
The name — the story — may reveal, 
Of him who now has ceased to feel 
The thrill of bliss — the throb of woe — 
The pang young minds are doomed to know, 
When Disappointment's withering glance 
Dissolves the spell of fond romance 
That on her heart's proud beatings hung, 
And songs of hope and gladness sung — 
Paeans that told of future fame — 
The heaven-born lay — the deathless name i 

T read : — " Mary the honored wife" — 
Mary ! — my worshipped love ! the life 
Of life ! My Mary — art thou gone 1 

Another change. — Lo, now there shone 
A glorious sun in heaven ; — and yet 
The yew-tree's sable pall was wet 
With tears of night ; — and yet the mound — 
Not grassless now but osier-bound — 
Was there ; — and still the moaning gale 
Sighed o'er that stone — that tribute frail, 
But time had dimmed its freshness — moss 
Crept o'er the words that spoke the loss 
My widowed soul had known. — Beneath 
A rank and deadly nightshade wreath 



342 life's assurance. 

These broken lines I read : — " Here sleeps 
Her husband" — " Life's Assurance" — "weeps" 
" In anguish weeps." 

The vision fled — 
I was no more amongst the dead — 
The world's swift stream — the rushing throng — 
Carried me with its tide along, 
Like a seared leaf that yet lives on, 
When all its kindred leaves are gone. — 
Strange, that amidst the ceaseless strife, 
Though joy was dead, I longed for life ! 
Those words — those words — that vision still 
Haunted my heart and brain. The will, 
"Without the power to live, was mine ! 
O, for some voice — some voice divine — 
To whisper to my secret ear, 
" Life — Life's Assurance — waits thee Here !" 
That instant, smiling through the storm, 
My mental glance descried a form 
Attired in robes of dazzling white, 
With lip of rose, and eye of light. 
That lip — that eye — had blessed my gaze 
In other, brighter, happier days — 
When love was warm, when life was new, 
And years like minutes swiftly flew ! 
In her white hand a cup she bore — 
The cup I quaffed in days of yore, 
'Twas Hope — and thus she spake : — " O, drink ! 
And though upon the gloomy brink 
Of the dark grave, yet thou shalt live — 
The draught shall Life's Assurance give !" 



life's assurance. 343 

Life ! Life ! O, magic words, whose power 
Wrought on my heart, in that wild hour 
Of visioned woe ! — I drained the bowl — 
That nectar of a fainting soul ! 
Would gracious Heaven my days prolong \ 
Yes ! for methought my limbs grew strong ; 
My breast no longer owned despair, 
For Hope — the syren Hope — was there ! 

I gazed around — what words were those 
What mansion that so stately rose \ 
Ha ! " Life's Assurance !" — Breathe I yet ! 
I rushed within the gate — I met 
The fleshless form — the orbless eye — 
The breast without a heart — a sigh — 
That man's worst foe declared ! Around — 
Huge folios — bags of gold — embrowned 
"With dusk of time : — Was gold the price 
Of earth's still longed for Paradise \ 
" Ah ! give me years of vigor — health— 
And take, O, take my sordid wealth !" 

The spectre grimly smiled, and said : 
" Thou fool — go rest thee with the dead ! 
Behold yon feeble withered crone — 
Like thee she'd breathe, a thriftless drone — 
Like thee she'd live o'er life again, 
Through years of feverish grief and pain. 
To-morrow she must meet her doom — 
To-morrow rest within the tomb ! 

" Thy days are numbered, too. Away ! 
Thy mother earth now chides thy stay ! 



344 life's assurance. 

Go — and, within her silent home, 

Await the life — the life to come !" 

With gaunt and outstretched arm he gave 

A scroll — my passport to the grave. 

I shrank, and read with gasping breath — 

" Thy Life's Assurance is alone through Death." 



Woman. — Woman is formed for attachment. Her 
gratitude is imperishable. Her love is an unceasing 
fountain of delight to the man who has once attained 
and knows how to deserve it. But the keenness of sen- 
sibility, which, if well cultivated, would prove the source 
of your highest enjoyment, may grow to bitterness and 
wormwood, if you fail to attend to it, or abuse it. 

The affection of Woman is the most wonderful thing 
in the world — it tires not, faints not, dreads not, cools 
not. It is like the Naphtha that nothing can extinguish 
but the appalling look of death. 

A young woman never appears so truly amiable as in 
retirement ; her virtues shine there with double lustre. 

Many a young wife has entirely alienated the affec- 
tions of her husband by a disregard in her personal ap- 
pearance. Without neatness in woman, there can be 
no love in man. 

A pleasant, cheerful Wife is as a rainbow set in the 
sky when her husband's mind is tossed with storms and 
tempests, but a dissatisfied and fretful wife, in the hour 
of trouble is like one of those who were appointed to 
torture lost spirits. 



The government of God in the soul is one which 

regulates but does not enslave. 



THE INSURANCE OFFICE. 345 



THE INSURANCE OFFICE. 

" I'll make assurance doubly sure, 
And take a bond of fate." — Shakspeare. 

To persons ignorant of commercial and financial 
mysteries, the notion of insuring life seems a strange 
one. How a house or ship may be insured is easily 
comprehended; for the first may probably never be 
burnt, nor the second wrecked. But man must, at 
some time or other, die ; and yet, against death, not 
only the young and vigorous, but the aged and valetu- 
dinary, find no difficulty in obtaining, on various condi- 
tions, what is technically called a policy of insurance. 
Is it not rather a sentence of execution, the term of 
which is not precisely defined] 

Slanderers of human nature deny that there is such 
a tiling as friendship. Even the less misanthropic con- 
sider themselves remarkably fortunate if they possess 
one true friend. Shall I inform you how you may 
make yourself certain of having at least eight staunch, 
hearty friends, who will feel the greatest interest in you 
during the whole course of your existence'? Go, and 
insure your life, for a good round sum, at the office of 
one of the insurance companies. From the very mo- 
ment of your doing so, the directors of that company 
will become your warm and sincere friends ; friends, 
whom no neglect of yours, except neglecting to pay 
your annual premium, can alienate. The "how d'ye 
do \" of oiler people is merely the conventional phrase 
\>\ which conversation is commenced, but with the gen- 



346 THE INSURANCE OFFICE. 

tlemen to whom I allude it is a bona-fide inquiry. To 
them your health is an object of constant solicitude. 
They watch with anxious sympathy the expression of 
your countenance ; exult when your eye sparkles with 
vivacity, and are depressed when your cheek is invaded 
by " the pale cast" of sickness. And when at length 
the awful moment shall arrive — 

" For come it will, the day decreed by fate," 

that is to terminate your earthly career, their grief at 
your loss will be unminglecl with the slighest hypocrisy. 
Why 1 The event which puts your nearest connections 
in possession of twenty thousand pounds, takes exactly 
the same sum out of the pockets of these gentlemen. 
Yes, my dear madam, notwithstanding what you hasten 
to tell me about "the emotions of conjugal affection," 
and " the tears of filial sensibility," I maintain that the 
most inconsolable mourners over a man's grave are the 
directors of the company by whom his life has been 
insured. 

There is no rule, however, without an exception. 
Among the conditions on which a policy of life insurance 
is granted, is generally one, which it is difficult to de- 
scribe in terms of sufficient delicacy. The benefits of 
the policy are withheld from that particular casualty to 
which a want of due regard for the lives and property 
of others may unhappily subject any man. In plain 
English, the insurance company declare that if the 
person insured should be hanged, they will be hanged 
if they pay a farthing to his heirs, executors, adminis- 
trators, and assigns. He and the policy drop together. 
It is clear, therefore, that this unamiable reservation is 
likely to produce a little deviation from the otherwise 



THE INSURANCE OFFICE. 347 

uniformly warm tone of friendship to which I have been 
adverting. In fact, it must create an anomaly of feeling 
rather curious. My dear sir, I have the highest regard 
for you, and put up daily prayers for your health and 
prosperity ; I am delighted at the ruddiness of your 
complexion, and the firmness of your step. 

It has puzzled me for the last half-hour, and if you, 
my gentle reader, are not clearer-headed than I am, it 
will puzzle you for the next, to determine whether this 
awkward proviso be or be not advantageous to the 
interests of morality. They say, " and I believe the 
tale," that the love of money is a great temptation to 
crime. But here the love of money is a great temptation 
to abstinence from crime. We may be tolerably certain 
that a person of any nous, who has insured his life at a 
life-insurance office, will take care not to be easily be- 
trayed into the commission of burglary or murder ; 
were it only that he would be ashamed of showing him- 
self so deficient in worldly knowledge. On the other 
hand, is that altogether fair towards the insurance com- 
pany 1 Ought a humane and honorable man to check 
his evil propensities, because their indulgence would be 
beneficial to a certain portion of his fellow creatures \ 
Is it honest on his part to do all he can by his good 
conduct to disappoint calculations and expectations 
founded on a just view of the depravity of human 
nature \ 

After all, and notwithstanding my nice scruples, I 
believe it must be conceded that the institution of these 
societies has been productive of great good. That man 
cannot be a very worthless member of the community, 



348 THE INSURANCE OFFICE. 

whose natural affection induces him to deny himself 
all or many of the luxuries of life, and in some cases 
even to abridge what the self-indulgent consider its 
absolute necessaries, in order .that, when he is cold in 
the grave, his wife, or his children, may be placed in 
circumstances of ease and independence. 



The Female Heart. — The female heart may be com- 
pared to a garden which, when well cultivated, presents 
a continued succession of fruits and flowers, to regale the 
soul and delight the eye : but when neglected, produc- 
ing a crop of the most noxious weeds ; large and flourish- 
ing, because their growth is in proportion to the warmth 
and richness of the soil from which they spring. Then 
let this ground be faithfully cultivated ; let the mind of 
the young and lovely female be stored with useful knowl- 
edge; and the influence of women, though undiminished 
in power, will be like " the diamond of the desert," spark- 
ling and pure, whether surrounded by the sands of deso- 
lation, forgotten and unknown, or pouring its refreshing 
streams through every avenue of the social and moral 
habit. 



Desires. — It should be an indispensable rule in life to 
contract our desires to our present condition, and what- 
ever may be our expectations, to live within the compass 
of what we actually possess. It will be time enough to 
enjoy an estate when it comes into our hands; but if 
we anticipate our good fortune, we shall lose the pleasure 
of it when it arrives, and may possibly never possess 
what we so foolishly counted upon. 



THE LAST BOTTLE. 



34:9 




THE LAST BOTTLE. 



An' if it be the last bottle, Death is quite welcome ; 
for then life hath run to the very dregs and lees, and 
there is nothing more in it which can be called enjoy- 
ment. Ah, whither have ye sped, ye jovial Hours, 
which on bright-winged glasses, far different from yon 
sandy remembrancer, floated away so blissfully ; as the 
bird poised high in air, the trouble of the ascent over, 
glides without effort or motion, through the brilliant 
pleasures of yielding space. How ye sparkled and ran 
on, like gay creatures of the element gifted with more 
than magic powers. Beautiful and slight ephemera, 
fragile as you seemed, what mighty loads of cares did 
you easily bear off in your aerial flight ! Ponderous debts 
which might weigh nations down ; the griefs of many 
Loves, enough to drown a world; the falsehood of 
friends, the malice of enemies ; anxieties, fears, troubles, 
sorrows — all vanished as drinking ye proceeded in your 
in\ atic dance ! I picture ye in my fancy, now, ye Hours, 
a- sparkling, joyous, and exquisite insects, flitting past 
with each a burden of man's miseries on his shoulders 
sufficient to break the back of a camel, and borne from 
the Lightened hearts of your true worshippers. 



350 THE LAST BOTTLE. 

But, alas ! alas ! for all things mortal — we must come 
to the last at last. 

Yet let the grim tyrant approach at any time, sith it 
must be so — and at what time can he approach when we 
should less regard his frown \ Like the unconscious 
lamb, which " licks the hand just raised to shed its 
blood," we play with his bony fingers as he presents the 
latest draught ; and, let his dart be dipped in the rosy 
flood, we die feeling that wine gives to Death itself a 
pang of joy. Herodotus must have been wrong when 
he told us that the maneros of the Egyptians was a 
mournful and wailing song ; and Plutarch's is the best 
authority, for he says it was a joyous chant. So believed 
the merry party assembled : their round of song, of 
toast, of cheer, of laughter, and of shout, was such as 
Plutarch paints of the wisdom of antiquity, when the 
figure of a dead man was shown to the convivial souls, 
and they melodiously joined the chorus — 

Encore, encore ! no more, no more ! 

The last measure is full, the last verse is sung, the last 
cork has left the neck of the last bottle open. The 
gloomy assassin strikes — He who has been so often dead- 
drunk, what is he now \ At the next meeting there was 
one chair empty, one jolly dog absent — Ai-lun. And 
what said his disconsolate companions — they missed 
him, they mourned, they lamented, no doubt : — aye, 
and they joked too. One said he had never paid any 
debt till he paid the debt of Nature ; another remarked 
that he was just wise enough to prefer a full to an 
empty bottle ; and the third wrote his epitaph over the 
third bottle per man : — 

Habeas Corpus ! Hie Jacet ! 



THE LAST BOTTLE. 351 

Here lies William Wassail, cut down by the Mower ; 
None ever drank faster or paid their debts slower — 

Now quiet he lies as he sleeps with the just. 
He has drank his Last Bottle, and fast, fast he sped 

it o'er, 
And paid his great debt to his principal Creditor ; 

And compounded with all the rest, even with Dust. 

THE BACCHANALIANS. 

Whilst Reason rules the glass, and Friendship flings 
Its Claude-like tint o'er life's convivial hours, 

Heart toward heart with generous fervor springs, 
And Fancy wreaths the social board with flowers. 

But, when the glass o'er prostrate Reason rules, 

And all Ebriety's dull vapors rise, 
Lost in the mist, the wisest, changed to fools, 

Take thorns for flowers, and whips for social ties. 

Look now on yon bibbers — how wildly they laugh 

And exult o'er the poison they fearlessly quaff; 

Their mirth grows to madness, and loudly they call 

On the waiter ; — he enters — Death waits on them all : 

They jest at his figure ; — 'tis meagre and bare, 

But soon his "pale liv'ry" the proudest shall wear. 

That last fatal bottle the mischief shall work; 

Their last vital breath shall be drawn with that cork: 

Its odor is fetid — it smells of the dead, 

Tis a type of their fate, for their spirits have fled ; 

The glass of hilarity reels in their hand, 

But there is another glass — flowing with sand; 

Its grains are fast falling — they trickle — no more: 

Those glasses are drained — the carousal is o'er. 



352 THE LAST BOTTLE. 



ELIXIR VITyE. 



" Wine does wonders every day." 

From the time when the juice of the grape was first 
concocted into beverage, to the present day — the day 
of Charles Wright, of champagne celebrity — wine has 
ever been lauded as one of Nature's most valuable gifts 
to man. It is the true aurum potabile, the genuine 
elixir vitse, invigorating the heart, inspiring the fancy, 
and recalling to the veins of age the genial glow of 
youth. Accordingly, many, very many, are the excellent 
sayings that have been uttered in commendation of this 
generous liquor ; and many, very many, too, are the good 
things, the bright thoughts, the flashes of wit and 
eloquence it has suggested ; for when, indeed, has it 
ever proved ungrateful 1 Not unfrequently has the 
bottle been the Helicon whence bards have drawn 
inspiration, if not immortality: it has also been com- 
pared to the fountain of youth, or to that wonder- 
working cauldron in which Medea* reanimated with 
fresh vigor and vitality the aged limbs of her parent, 
infusing into her veins a warmer, fuller current. 

Nevertheless, although the bacchanalian be steeped in 
his all-potent liquor as deeply as possible, and although 
he be rendered proof against all the cares and anxieties 
that beset us in this mortal passage — though he bear a 

* Stripped of its allegorical veil, the fable of Medea is nothing more than 
the record of some of those magnificent achievements of certain of the medical 
profession, which we find so eloquently narrated in those pithy compositions, 
hight advertisements, according to the unpoetical matter-of-fact -spirit of 
modern times, so different from that of antiquity ; not but there may be, 
and undoubtedly is, a considerable degree of both fancy and invention in 
those productions. 



THE LAST BOTTLE. 353 

" charmed life," and daily inhale new vigor from " tired 
nature's sweet restorer" balmy wine ; like him who was 
dipped in the waters of Styx, he is not all invulnerable, 
there being ever some little spot assailable by the fatal 
dart of the grizzly spectre. Death, indeed, pays not 
much respect to the hon vivant ; and, regardless of him 
as the professed toper may appear, or seldom as he sings 
a memento inori over his bowl, or utters one in the form 
of a toast, it must be acknowledged that he more often 
rehearses the. final scene of life than his fellow mortals, 
by getting dead-drunk, thus anticipating, as it were, 
that state of insensibility, that utter oblivion of sublunary 
things, that characterizes Death. 

As the bee extracts sweetness from the vilest plants, 
so does the moralist collect lessons of wisdom and deep 
reflection from scenes that seem capable of furnishing 
little instruction of this nature. We may be pardoned, 
therefore, if we prose a little on that truly poetical and 
classical subject, a bacchanalian group, when the com- 
petitors having indulged in unsparing libations, to the 
genius loci — the deity of the banque ting-room, sink in 
oblivious repose and death-like insensibility. Here the 
full tide of existence that so lately animated the joyous 
circle, and raised them above the ordinary pitch of mor- 
tality, is stopped ; the jest, the repartee, the witticism, 
the quaint remark, the pun, the anecdote, the enthusi- 
astic toast, and the rushing torrent of words supplied 
by the grape-god, whose bottle inspires louder eloquence 
than Plena's fount; all are now hushed, and succeeded 
by silent torpidity; so closely have the actors in this 
mystery or morality, adhered to the progressive course 
marked by nature herself, who, from the midst of health 
23 



354 THE LAST BOTTLE. 

and life, prepares decay and dissolution. If we gaze on 
those fallen heroes of the bottle, we shall perceive that 
some have quite drained their glasses, while others have 
fallen victims to stupor and insensibility, the bright 
liquor still sparkling before their eyes. So far we might 
not seldom derive a moral lesson from a not particularly 
moral subject. But there are occasions when Death 
literally takes his place at the festive board, and mars 
the merriment of the hour devoted to joy, " with most 
admired disorder." 

He does not stand upon the form of coming, well 
knowing that he cannot be denied. He is the dun that 
comes to demand the payment of the great debt of na- 
ture, and against him all subterfuges, however ingenious, 
are unavailing. Scorning and setting at naught all form 
and etiquette, he intrudes in spite of porter or groom of 
the chambers. Nevertheless, he will occasionally use a 
little finesse and stratagem, although certain of being 
able to gain forcible admission — vi et avmis. Here he 
comes in the disguise of a boon companion, for awhile 
to entertain the company with his erudition in cenology ; 
and descant most learnedly on the pedigree of wines, 
showing himself deeply learned in the lore of a Hender- 
son, and quite cm fait in the science of the drawing- 
room — that is, the room where they draw corks ; which, 
by the by, in the opinion of a great many connoisseurs, 
is the finest style of drawing ever invented — at least so 
it is held by those practitioners who operate as bottle 
dentists, and pique themselves on the skill with which 
they extract their teeth, and drain their veins — not of 
blood, but of the generous and potent ichor, for which 
they are so esteemed. But whether the liquor he prof- 



THE LAST BOTTLE. 355 

fers be claret or champagne — " that might create a soul 
beneath the ribs of death" — or whether it be eau-de-vie 
itself, it becomes a fatal poison, if Death takes upon 
himself to act the part of cup-bearer. If, however, wine 
do sometimes prove a poison, it must be acknowledged 
to be infinitely the most agreeable of any mentioned or 
not mentioned in any treatise on toxicology, and by far 
the most palatable and generous way of committing sui- 
cide yet discovered. 

Many have declaimed vehemently, if not eloquently, 
against the "sweet poison of misused wine," attributing 
to it the most pernicious effects on the human frame ; 
forgetting that the mischief is occasioned, not by the 
quality of the medicine, but by the excess of the dose. 
In other words, the fault lies in the patient himself, 
which is, we presume, invariably the case whenever any 
infallible nostrum works not the desired cure. If wine 
has hurried many out of the world sooner than they 
would otherwise have departed, so has physic, and more 
especially that sort of physic that has professed to ac- 
complish the most miraculous effects, and remove all 
disorders. Indeed, to do these universal panaceas jus- 
tice, they do most effectually remove every complaint 
by dispatching the patient himself into the other world ; 
and this is, perhaps, one reason why we hear of so few 
failures in those wonder-working drugs, that promise to 
protract existence to an antediluvian length of days. 

To those who like to indulge in fanciful comparisons, 
the festive table, covered with well-freighted decanters, 
shows itself like a calm sea on which stately ships and 
rich argosies are sailing along in gallant trim, fearing 
neither storms, nor shoals, nor rocks; but steer their 



356 THE LAST BOTTLE. 

way among goodly dishes laden with luscious fruits, that 
stud the bright expanse like so many fertile islands, and 
form an archipelago of sweets. And, to continue the 
simile, how many goodly promontories and capes do we 
discern around ! Yonder is a fiery proboscis that serves 
as a flaming beacon — a moral light-house to warn the 
inexperienced ; not far from this, a mouth that expands 
itself like some capacious haven. Continuing our 
course, we come to a nose, a jutting promontory with a 
mole at its extremity rivalling that of Genoa. There 
a snowy head meets the eye, reminding us of iEtna ; 
there a face with an eruption that marks it at once by 
its fiery appearance as Vesuvius : yet as men are not 
deterred from approaching that mountain, so neither is 
our bon vivant scared from his crater — in plain prose, his 
glass — by the fiery glare of his own countenance ; or 
perhaps its reflection serves only to lend a deeper ruby 
tint to his wine. Let us not be accused of being too 
fantastic and obscure in our allegorical picture, for surely 
the image is natural enough. 

Life itself has been compared to a voyage, and hence 
many, interpreting the expression somewhat too literally, 
have actually steered their course through a Red Sea of 
port and claret, sailed across a Pacific Ocean of burgundy 
and champagne ; navigated a Rhine whose stream has 
been genuine Rhenish ; and cruized up and down a gulf - 
of choice Malaga; visiting alternately Madeira and the 
Cape ; now touching at the Canaries and now at Oporto 
or Lisbon ; in short, circumnavigating the whole globe, 
and studying the geography of different regions, while 
their bottles circulated round the polished expanse of 
the mahogany clining-table, that reflected their sunny 



THE LAST BOTTLE. 357 

faces on its countenance. In wine they fancied they had 
discovered the nectar of the immortals — a Lethe for all 
the cares and anxieties of human existence. And most 
assuredly the liquor, with which they deluged themselves, 
was often not very dissimilar in its effect from that attri- 
buted to that fabled stream ; for many have drank till 
they have forgotten their creditors, their families, and 
even themselves. It is not, therefore, surprising that 
they should not have recollected, that, let them steer 
with what skill they might — however they might be 
favored with fair breezes and prosperous gales, and 
escape tempests and squalls, they must finish their voyage 
in the Dead Sea. 

"When Death officiates as butler, as we here see him, 
and draws the cork, it is from the waters of that horrid 
lake he pours out the nauseous beverage that all are 
compelled to drain from his hand. At his bidding the 
wine-bibber must visit other shades than those whither 
he has often so willingly repaired to partake of the in- 
spiring glass, heedless of .the ominous name. The shades ! 
what a memento niori in that awfully sounding word, 
which is, nevertheless, daily uttered by so many with so 
much gaycty ! Hardly do they seem to reflect that the 
gristly spectre will ere long summon them from the wine- 
vault to that narrow vault where, instead of finding a 
banquet for their thirsty palates, they must, themselves, 
afford a banquet to the worm; to those shades where 
they themselves will be as shadows, where their glass 
will be broken, their bottle emptied, no more to be re- 
plenished, and their revelry silenced for ever. 



358 



DELIRIUM. 




DELIRIUM 

Of all the ills foredoomed by Fate, 
That haunt and vex this mortal state, 
None holds such firm and dismal sway, 
Augmenting night, and darkening day, — > 
As the foul pest — accurs'd, unholy, 
Sad-eyed, soul-sinking delirium ! 



The fears that come without a call, 
The shade that, like a thrice-heaped pall, 
Drops o'er the shuddering unstrung sense, 
In wide and drear omnipotence ! 
The aimless blank, the sightless stare, 
The nerve, with all its fibres bare ; 
The shapes grotesque that start to view, 
And, as their victim shrinks, pursue ; 
The sickening languor, " last not least," 
That spreads o'er all the damp chill breast, 
Unnerves the will, and racks the head, 
And brings the tears into their bed ; 
These are amongst the horrors, thou, 
Dread Demon, heapest on my brow. 



DELIRIUM. 359 

Reader ! these are no fancied woes, 
For could I to thy view disclose 
The visions that torment my sight ; 
Each grinning elf, each grizzly sprite, — 
However strong thy nerves may be, 
Thou wouldst not mock, but pity me. 

* * * 

* # * 
Ah ! see you not that monstrous birth 
Engender'd by yon teeming hearth 1 
Mark that fantastic shapeless frame, 
All head and legs, with eyes of flame ! 
My vision reels. * * 

* # # 

* # # 
Maddening, I to my window. crawl, — 
Alas, alas, discomfort all ! 

Ilain, rain, eternal rain descending, 

My weather-glass no change portending; — 

The black, wet mass of yesterday 

In loosening torrents drowns the May ! 

Oh, happy climate ! beauteous Spring ! 

Last Winter was the self-same thing. 

Why not at once give all the slip ? — 

Yon sleepy potion tempts my lip ; 

The waning hour-glass seems to say, 

" Thy sand, like mine, has drained away ;" 

And by the Death's head on the ground 

Again my straining sight is bound. — 

One glass suffices — shall I try, 

And shift this clinging agony? — 

Shall I? * V * 



360 DELIRIUM. 

SOURCES OF PLEASURE. 

From the earliest period up to the great absorbing 
present, change has been constantly taking place. It is 
an arbitrary desire of the human mind to be ever on 
the wing. Scenes grow monotonous as they are re- 
enacted, and they lose their power to concentrate the 
tli oughts. 

All extremities are resorted to for happiness to fill 
the great void within the soul that cannot be satisfied 
with earthly joys. 

" The end justifies the means," is the maxim of some; 
but means must be just and right in themselves, before 
they can be justified by any after influence. Do we 
ever think of the means \ Of course, we do ; but 
seldom is anything considered with care, but the end. 
The vain mind revels in the admiration of the world, 
and everything is risked for notoriety and personal 
aggrandizement. So sweet to the taste is the really 
bitter fruit, that no poison is seen lurking in its luscious 
substance. Body and soul are sometimes given to gain 
the meteor goal, which, like the " Will-o'- the- Wisp," 
flies with the current that flows towards it, and eventu- 
ally sinks its follower in some marsh of sure destruction. 

Quaff the ruddy wine, deceived mortal, with avidity ; 
join the Bacchanalian throng that daily enters the 
"broad way;" let your ear drink in the music of the 
sparkling, flowing draught ; make your dizzy brain to 
reel with its increasing intoxication ; but pause not, or 
your eye may comprehend the fearful abyss that yawns 
to receive your faltering steps; and it would not be 
pleasure to be thus disturbed in your gay march, by the 
frightful knowledge. 



DELIRIUM. 361 

The close is coming ; the dread account is summed 
up ; you are " weighed in the balance and found 
wanting." One more turn; one more cry of frenzied 
joy^ and the fearful waters of ignominious death are 
flowing darkly o'er you, and you're lost — lost in the 
midnight gloom of an endless eternity. 

The scene changes. The pure, beautiful soul is 
turned adrift upon the world rudderless, to receive its 
false caresses. Self-interest causes many to fawn around 
the newly risen star of Fashion's caprice. Numberless 
satellites revolve in its orbit, until Fortune's freak shall 
lessen its brilliancy beyond the power, of attraction. 
Admirers throng about the " thing of beauty," and flat- 
terers dart their arrows with deadly aim at their unsus- 
pecting victim ; but soon, too soon, the heart learns its 
own human frailties that so long laid latent, and the 
bitter deception is seen too late. The loving heart, that 
might have been, is transformed into the cold, unimpas- 
sioned nature of the " woman of the world." The eyes 
flash scorn from their deepest sorrow, and the proud, 
sweet mouth is set forever against the seal of Truth. 
The pure, white brow frowns back its answer, and is no 
more an index to an unsullied heart. And this is 
happiness ! 

Let us turn our thoughts a moment from these 
artificial pleasures, and seek some of the means of the 
true. We have sources of joy within ourselves of which 
many know not. He who wraps the mantle of solfisli- 
ness about him, little suspects the wealth of happiness 
he veils from his vision: that happiness he so much 
desires. 

"It is morn blessed to give ;" and day by day we may 
bow some seed by the wayside. It may be among 



362 DELIRIUM. 

thistles ; tares may spring up to choke its growth, but 
it is there ; and in due time, though it may not blossom 
for us, we have the pleasant hope that it will burst into 
a flower of more glorious symmetry, for its long season 
of expansion. It is as bread cast upon the waters ; for, 
after many days, it will return unto us again. 

The mind is a great source of pleasure. That spark 
from the Divine brilliancy is ever seeking to expand ; 
and, panting after greater things, seeks to approximate 
more fully to the favor of its great author. If not so, it 
goes down — down — down. 

Life paints pictures which no artist could comprehend ; 
pictures whose living glow no genius could imitate. 
Not many could visit studios on whose walls brighter 
scenes (or darker as it may be) are depicted, than those 
which imagination and reality have traced in the picture 
galleries of our minds. 

The heart ! Some hearts are crushed ; but many, oh ! 
so many, are brimming full with love — that essence of 
the Divine character. So noiselessly it sends its frail 
tendrils abroad, to bask, strengthen, and glow under the 
genial rays of sympathy and return. The ruthless hand 
of fate may snatch from it the objects into which it has 
engrafted itself, until the many become as one, and it 
lies torn, broken, and weeping o'er its lost strength. 

There is a support which all may have ; permanent, 
firm as the everlasting hills. No rude hand may take- 
it from thee, no stern arm lay it low ; for it is the centre 
of all strength, power, and love ; the All-Disposer. This 
firm support, and the gladness of a lasting life, may 
cause a well of happiness to spring up in the soul, flow- 
ing like a river, and the music within our hearts will be 



DELIRIUM. 363 

as a slight foretaste of the mighty swell of harmony that 
makes glad " the city of our God." 

THE WINE CUP. 

Away ! away ! thou sparkling curse, 
There's poison in thy ruddy stream ; 
The shroud of death, the sable hearse, 
Upon thy golden ripples gleam. 
Thy tide the heavy heart may wake 
To feeling of the liveliest joy ; 
But, ah ! it is the gilded snake 
That fascinates but to destroy. 



Away ! away ! accursed thing, 
For well I know accurs'd thou art ; 
Away ! thy baneful tide will bring 
Destruction to the noblest heart. 
Before its -blighting influence fall 
The fairest, .fondest hopes of friends ; 
It holds the heavy heart in thrall, 
The silken ties of friendship rends. 

GIVE ME TO DRINK. 

Give me to drink ! but let it be 
Cold water, from pollution free ; 
(No poison with its current blent, 

The brain to fire, the soul to dim) ; 
The clear and sparkling element 

That bubbles o'er some fountain's brim. 

Of wine the merry bacchanal, 
In numbers light and musical, 



364: DELIRIUM. 

From night till dawn, from dawn till night, 
With hiccough choruses may sing; 

But give me water, pure and bright, 

Forth gushing from some crystal spring. 

Give me to drink ! but let the cup 

Be tilled with that which, gurgling up, 

As cold as snow on Hecla's side, 

Is filter'd through earth's bosom green, 
And kisses with its silver tide 

The flow'rs that o'er its surface lean. 

There is no poison there : a child 
May quaff, unharmed, its current mild, 
There lies no serpent coil'd beneath 

The mimic waves that round it roll, 
Her folds about the heart to wreathe, 

And pour her venom on the soul. 

Oh ! would that all, who now are bond 
To curst intemp'rance, might respond, 
" Give me to drink ! but let it be 

The clear and sparkling element, 
Cold water, from pollution free, 

No poison with its current blent." 

THE RECLAIMED DRUNKARD. 

What! taste that bowl again'? how dare 

Ye tempt me with its wave? 
Nay! never more the poison there 

These lips of mine shall lave ! 
Nay ! never more around my soul 
Shall its defiling current roll ! 



DELIRIUM. 365 



I would not taste that baneful thing 
To be of earth the proudest king ! 

What ! taste that bowl again 1 and be 
As once, a grovelling slave \ 

Wed crime, and grief, and obloquy, 
And fill a drunkard's grave ? 

Oh ! tempt me not, if ye are men ; 

I will not taste that bowl again ! 

Be mine God's heaviest malison, 

When I from this resolve am won ! 



We advise that no person should go to work or take 
exercise in the morning on an empty stomach ; but if it 
is stimulated to action by a cup of coffee, or a crust of 
bread, or apple, or orange, exercise can be taken, not 
only with impunity, but to high advantage, in all chill 
and fever localities. 



Every mother who would pride herself in having her 
daughter possess a beautiful head of hair, luxurious, 
long, and silken at sweet nineteen, should forbid any 
application to the hair, except pure cold water, keeping 
it short, and allowing it to lie naturally on the forehead. 



A piece of ice laid on the wrist will often arrest violent 
bleeding of the nose. 



366 THE BALSAMIC QUALITY OF WATER. 



THE BALSAMIC QUALITY OF WATER. 

Good and pure water has a balsamic and healing 
quality in it. I could give many instances, as well exter- 
nally in curing of wounds, as internally, as ulcers, exco- 
riations, etc. For I once knew a gentleman of plentiful 
fortune, who by accident fell to decay, and having a 
numerous family of small children, whilst the father was 
a prisoner, his family was reduced almost to want ; his 
wife and children living on little better than bread and 
water. But I never saw such a change in six months' 
time as I did in this unhappy family ; for the children, 
that were always ailing and valeludinary — as coughs, 
king's evil, etc. — were recovered to a miracle, looked 
fresh, well colored, and lusty, their flesh hard and plump. 
But, I remember, the mother told me, it being a plentiful 
year of fruit, she gave them often baked apples, which, 
with their coarse bread, I think, might very much con- 
tribute to their health. And that most remarkable story 
of Alexander Selkirk, a Scotchman, who from a leaky ship 
was, upon his own request, set on shore on an island in 
the South Sea, called Juan Fernandez, about the latitude 
of thirty-three degrees, where he lived four years and 
four months by himself alone, and ate nothing but goat's 
flesh and drank water, having neither bread nor salt, and 
that he was three times as strong, by exercise and such 
a diet, as ever he was in his life. But when taken 
up by the two ships, the Duke and Duchess, sent out 
from Bristol for the South Sea, that eating the ship fare 
with the other seamen, and drinking beer and other fer- 
mented liquors, his strength by degrees began to leave 



THE BALSAMIC QUALITY OF WATER. 867 

him, like cutting off Samson's hair, crinitim (to make 
a word), or lock by lock, so that in one month's time he 
had not more strength than another man. I insert this 
relation to show that water is not only sufficient to sub- 
sist us as a potulent (drink), but that it liquefies and 
concocts our food better than any fermented liquors 
whatsoever; and even those strong spirituous drinks, 
were it not for the watery particles in them, would prove 
altogether destructive, and so far from nourishing, that 
they would inflame and parboil the tunicles of our sto- 
machs, as is daily seen, and especially in the livers of 
most clareteers, and great drinkers of other strong 
liquors. 



Simplicity of Dress. — I like, I confess, to see a young 
wife neatly dressed. There is a neatness which is per- 
fectly compatible with plainness; and a dress may be 
graceful without being ridiculous. I like a neat sim- 
plicity, because, somehow or other, there appears to be a 
frequent connection between the outside and the inside. 
The exterior is, to some extent, a key to the interior. 
If I see a person dressed like a thorough-going fop, I 
cannot, if I would, respect the mind of the person. 
Even if a future close acquaintance discloses to me my 
error, it is hard to overcome first impressions. 



Endeavor to be first in thy calling, whatever it be, 
neither let any one go before thee in well doing ; never- 
theless, do not envy the merits of another, but improve 
thine own talent. 



368 EFFECTS OF DISTILLED SPIRITS AND MALT LIQUORS. 



EVIL EFFECTS OF DISTILLED SPIRITS AND 
MALT LIQUORS. 

In no case whatever, in which there is health and 
vigor of constitution, is the use of distilled spirit ever 
beneficial for their preservation, or for the endurance of 
fatigue or hardship. The continued use of ardent spirit 
cannot be indulged in without the certainty of injury. 

Never does ardent spirit operate as a preventive of 
epidemic and pestilential diseases ; very generally it is 
an exciting cause of such diseases. 

The effect of a frequent moderate use of such liquors 
is to create an appetite for an increase of the noxious 
draught. The prostration of the system, by intempe- 
rance, is manifest in aggravating the character of every 
disease, is readily discerned by the observant physician, 
and demands all his skill in the management, of the ex- 
isting malady. 

The effect of alcohol, on those who use it, is to impair 
and vitiate the moral sense. 

On the intellectual powers the effects of alcohol are 
feebleness and exhaustion, degrading them to madness 
and idiocy. 

The disease of an habitual drunkard will, for the 
most part, run its course uninfluenced by medical treat- 
ment ; in the exhaustion produced by intemperance, 
medicines are oftentimes useless, and the disease, for the 
most part, proves fatal; whereas, the diseases of the 
water drinker are comparatively few in number ; in 
general, readily controlled, and, when the malady is re- 



EFFECTS OF DISTILLED SPIRITS AND MALT LIQUORS. 369 

moved, the constitution is easily restored to its original 
health and vigor. 

A very large proportion of the deaths of adults, par- 
ticularly from inflammatory diseases, dropsies, and he- 
morrhages, are produced by the use of alcohol. 

The chances for vigor, health, and long life are in 
favor of him who altogether abstains from the use of 
ardent spirits. Spirituous liquors are the most common 
cause of insanity. Even their moderate use has a ten- 
dency to create the drunken appetite. As a family 
medicine, distilled spirit is very dangerous, and should 
only be supplied when prescribed by a physician. 

"The effects of malt liquors on the body, if not so 
immediately rapid as those of ardent spirits, are more 
stupefying, more lasting, and less easily removed. The 
last are particularly prone to produce levity and mirth, 
but the first have a stunning influence upon the brain, 
and, in a short time, render dull and sluggish the gayest 
disposition. They also produce sickness and vomiting 
more readily than either spirits or wine. 

" Both wine and malt liquors have a greater tendency 
to swell the body than ardent spirits. They form blood 
with greater rapidity, and are altogether more nourish- 
ing. The most dreadful effects, upon the whole, are 
brought on by spirits, but drunkenness from malt liquors 
is the most speedily fatal. The former break down the 
body by degrees ; the latter operate by some instanta- 
neous apoplexy or rapid inflammation. 

" No one has ever given the respective characters of 

the malt and ardent spirit drunkard with greater truth 

than Hogarth in his Beer Alley and Gin Lane. The 

first is represented as plump, rubicund, and bloated; the 

24 



370 EFFECTS OF DISTILLED SPIRITS AND MALT LIQUORS. 

second as pale, tottering, and emaciated, and dashed 
over with the aspect of blank despair." 

"A great proportion of all persons found in our hos- 
pitals and alms-houses are the victims of sottishness. I 
can add nothing to the weight of the remonstrances 
which have been often presented to the public, on the 
morbid and corrupting influence of this vice. For the 
purpose, however, of refuting the vulgar opinion, that 
spirituous liquors are useful in enabling people to bear 
extreme cold, it is only necessary to state, that in all the 
frequent attempts to sustain the intense cold of winter, 
in the arctic regions, particularly in Hudson's Bay, Green- 
land, and Spitzbergen, those crews or companies which 
had been well supplied with provisions and liquors, and 
enabled thereby to indulge in indolence and free drink- 
ing, have generally perished ; while, at the same time, 
the greatest number of survivors have been uniformly 
found among those who were accidentally thrown upon 
the inhospitable shores, destitute of food and spirituous 
liquors, compelled to maintain an incessant struggle 
against the rigors of the climate, in procuring food, and 
obliged to use water alone as drink. This fact is too 
decisive to need any comment." 



Open your heart to sympathy, but close it to despond- 
ency. The flower which opens to receive the dew, shuts 



As an intoxicating drink is to a toper, so is flattery to 
a fool. 






TEMPERANCE. 371 



TEMPERANCE. 

If thou wilt observe 
The rule of not too much — by temperance taught, 
In what thou eat'st and drink'st seeking from thence 
Due nourishment, not gluttonous delight, 
Till many years over thy head return : 
So may'st thou live till like ripe fruit thou drop 
Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease 
Gather'd, not harshly pluck'd, in death mature." 

" Food not too fat or gross, and water as a drink, render 
our bodies the most firm and strong." 

" As water is, in chief, the universal drink of all the 
world, both animals and vegetables, so it is the best 
and most salubrious ; for without it no plant nor creature 
could long subsist." 

" Pure water is the fluid designed by nature for the 
nourishment of all bodies, whether animal or vegetable." 

" "Water drinkers are observed to be more healthy 
and long-lived than others. In such, the faculties of the 
body and mind are more strong; their teeth more white; 
their breath is more sweet, and their sight more perfect 
than those who use fermented liquors and much animal 
food." 

" Every natural water which has no impregnation 
sensible to the taste or smell of a person of common 
sensibility drinking it, is very well fitted for the drink 
of mankind." 

" Water, as it is the most ancient, so it is the best 
and most common fluid for drink, and ought to be 
esteemed the most commodious for the preservation of 
Life and health." 



372 TEMPERANCE. 

" Pure spring water, when fresh and cold, is the best 
and most wholesome drink, and the most grateful to 
those who are thirsty, whether they be sick or well : it 
quenches thirst, cools the body, dilutes, and thereby 
obtunds acrimony — often promotes sweat, expels noxious 
matters, resists putrefaction, aids digestion, and, in fine, 
strengthens the stomach." 

" There are indeed some, though very few in number, 
to whom cold water, on account of a notable weakness, 
either of the body generally or of the stomach, seems, 
on account of its coldness, to be prejudicial. Water, 
however, either made tepid, or boiled, and allowed to 
cool, and thus made soft, as it were, is still suitable for 
these persons." 

"Water drinkers are, in general, longer livers ; are 
less subject to decay of the faculties; have better teeth; 
more regular appetites than those who indulge in a more 
stimulating diluent for their common drinks. I com- 
mend water as a diluent, to prevent heart-burn and 
eructation. 

" Cold water is the most proper beverage for a man 
as well as animals ; it cools, thins, and clears the blood 
— it keeps the stomach, head, and nerves in order — 
makes man tranquil, serene, and cheerful. 

" Pure and light waters are agreeable to the different 
natures and constitutions of all men." 

" No remedy can more effectually secure health and 
prevent diseases, than pure water." 

" The drinking of water is serviceable in every com- 
plexion." 

" W r ater proves agreeable to persons of all ages." 

" The drinkers of water, provided it be pure and 
excellent are more healthy and longer lived than such 



TEMPERANCE. 373 

as drink wine or malt liquors; and why, it generally 
gives them a better appetite and renders them plump 
and fleshy." — Those who drink water are observed to 
have much whiter and sounder teeth than others. Add 
to this, that drinkers of water are brisker and more alert 
in all the actions, both of mind and body, than such as 
use malt liquors. 

" Water is a remedy suited to all persons, at all times; 
that there is no better preservative from distempers ; 
that it is assuredly serviceable, both in acute and chronic 
diseases ; and, lastly, that its use answers to all indica- 
tions, both of preservation and cure." 

" Miserable is the condition of those who daily in- 
dulge themselves in liquors (wine and the spirits 
obtained from it by distillation), for a fatal necessity 
there follows of repeating them ; and at length, almost 
the whole system of the vital and animal actions de- 
pends upon a continuance of them." 

" The water drinkers are temperate in their actions, 
prudent, and ingenious ; they live safe from those dis- 
eases which affect the head, such as apoplexies, palsies, 
pain, blindness, deafness, gout, convulsions, trembling, 
and madness." — " It (water) resists putrefaction, and 
cools burning heats and thirsts; and after dinner it 
helps digestion." 

"■ The element of water is the greatest and only pro- 
moter of digestion. By its coldness and fixed air, it is 
an excellent strengthener and reviver of the stomach 
and nerves. On account of its abundance of fixed air, 
and the saHne principles it contains; it is a powerful 
preventive of bile and putrefaction. It assists all the 
secretions of the body." 



374 TEMPERANCE, 

"Water is, of all drinks, that which, by its constant 
use, is best fitted to aid in prolonging the life of man." 

" In short, the nearer we approach to a perfectly 
aqueous regimen in drink, during the first year at least, 
so much the better chance have we of avoiding sickness ; 
and the more slowly and gradually we deviate from this 
afterwards, so much the more retentive will we be of 
that invaluable blessing — Health /" 

" I aver, from my own knowledge and custom, as well 
as from the custom and observation of others, that those 
who drink nothing but water, or make it their principal 
drink, are but little affected by the climate, and can 
undergo the greatest fatigue without inconvenience." 

Our readers can now determine, whether the eulogies 
which we have given to water as a drink, and the ex- 
pressions that "simple water is, after all, the beverage 
best adapted to all classes and descriptions of persons" 
— " pure water is the only fitting drink for man" — 
" pure water, without any addition, is confessedly the 
drink most friendly to health, and the one which ought 
invariably to be adopted," are true. 



Health is promoted, happiness increased, and life pro- 
longed by the large contemplation of the beautiful in 
nature, art, and revelation. Natural philosophers live 
longer than any other class of men ; clergymen, than 
either of the other professions. The human mind every- 
where takes in truth with pleasure ; it feeds on what is 
new, and, if the new is beautiful and true, it is a feast 
of fat things, nourishing the immortal part, and giving 
life to the body itself. 



GAMING. 



375 




GAMING. 

" The wife of a gamester caine with Death in her looks to seek her hus- 
band where he had been playing for two days. — ' Leave me,' he said, ' I shall 
see you again, perhaps.' — He did indeed come to her ; she was in bed with 
his last child at her breast, — ' Rise,' said he; 'the bed on which you lie is no 
longer yours.' " — M. de Saulx on the Passion of Gaming. 



The passion for gaming is as universal as it is perni- 
cious : avarice is its origin, and as all human hearts are 
more or less avaricious, a propensity to gambling is con- 
fined to no peculiar country. The savage and the sons 
of refinement, the scientific and ignorant, alike admit it 
within their bosoms. There appears to be a delicious 
allurement connected with the anticipation of winning, 
that counteracts all qualmy doubts, and for a while de- 
prives the soul of its genial sympathies by enslaving it 
to oblivious selfishness. Some writers have endeavored 
to confine the prevalence of gambling to those climes 
where the frigid sternness of the atmosphere occasions 
a mental torpor, which is to be relieved only by the per- 
turbations of the heart. But existing facts are a con- 
futation to this limitation ; for whether we cast our eye 
over the fertile provinces of China, or turn to the un- 



376 GAMING. 

cultivated islands in the Pacific Ocean, we find man 
yielding himself up to the same destructive passion, and 
entailing on himself consequences equally appalling.* 

A more heart-sickening spectacle cannot well be 
imagined than a room replete with regular gambling 
parties, each engaged at their particular game: — take, 
for instance, one of the metropolitan hells. An unvitiated 
stranger, on his first entrance there, may learn a lesson 
that will remain indelible while the soul is capable of 
remembering former sympathies. The mantling glimmer 
of the various lights, the hushed silence of the room, — 
rarely disturbed but by the passive foot-falls of waiters, 

* The Siamese, Sumatrans, and Malayans are warmly addicted to gam- 
bling ; the former will sell themselves and families to discharge their gambling 
debts. The Chinese play by night and day ; and when ruinously unsuccess- 
ful hang themselves. The Japanese have secured themselves from yielding 
to their innate fondness for gambling, by edicting a law, " That whoever 
ventures his money at play, shall be put to death." Speaking of a running- 
match performed by the inhabitants of some islands in the Pacific Ocean, 
Cooke remarks : " We saw a man beating his breast and tearing his hair in 
the violence of rage, for having lost three hatchets at one of these races, and 
which he had purchased with nearly half his property." The ancients too 
were gamblers. The Persians, Grecians, Romaus, Goths, and Vandals may 
be adduced as examples. To the wasteful partiality of the Romans for 
gambling, Juvenal strongly alluded in his Sat. I. : — 

" Neque enim loculis eomitantibus itur, 
Ad casum tabula^, posita luditur area." 

Among the modern nations, the French and English are mournful instances of 
the horrors and depravities arising from gaming. The annals of every family 
abound with their sad mementos. Gamester and cheater were synonymous 
terms in the days of Ben Jonson and Shakspeare : late facts will warrant 
a continuation of the synonyms. Formerly, gambling houses were established 
on a more systematic and official plan than the hells of the present times. 
The following is but a partial list of the officers then in attendance : A com- 
missioner, a director, an operator, two croupers (who gathered the money for 
the bank), two puffs, a clerk, a squib, a flasher, a dunner, a captain, a newgate 
solicitor, an usher, with linkboys, coachmen, etc. etc 



GAMING. 371 

and dismal sighs escaping from sorrowed hearts — the 
mournful associations that wait on every unhallowed 
spot, and the deepening consciousness that misery is 
busied in pensive revels — all commingling, sink on the 
visitant's soul with appalling reality. Though untainted 
himself, his tenderest pity and most melancholy presenti- 
ments must be awakened for the deluded victims of a 
selfish passion. While standing by and gazing at one of 
the attentive gamesters, what room for moralizing com- 
passion ! Observe his glittering eye, that rolls so wildly 
under its fretful lid, the alternate wrinkling and relaxing 
of his moistened brow, his baking lips, and their frequent 
despairing mutter of convulsive anguish ! His counte- 
nance is the faithful mirror of his soul : its internal pas- 
sions may be seen working there. Now, a trepid gleam 
of joy illumes his sunken cheek — again the smile dis- 
solves, and the gloomy sullenness of disappointment sheds 
there its monotomy of shade. His visage may be com- 
pared to a lake on a breezy spring-day, where dizzy sun- 
beams mellow for awhile its placid surface, to be suc- 
ceeded by pattering rain drops, and the rippling play of 
ruffled water. Thus pleasure awhile lights up the game- 
ster's face, the features glow as it passes over them, and 
then relapse into the emotions of deep-rooted melancholy ! 
Miserable feelings are not only betrayed in the counte- 
nance : they are perceived in each movement of the hand, 
the peevish grasp of the dice-box, or the dubious selec- 
tion of a card, in the arrangement of the tricks and dis- 
position of the counters : the whole air of his denotes a 
mental struggle. Suppose he be the momentary winner ; 
— even then his delight is but a mockery of felicity, while 
the losing adversary awes down its demonstration by 



378 GAMING. 

the livid contortions of his visage, and the patient stern- 
ness of avarice writhing for speedy retaliation. 

He who endures the pangs of unmerited woe may 
have a hapless lot; but the very consciousness of 
its being undeserved is a source of fitful consolation. 
Like the day-god, which, amid the dark thunder-clouds 
that overshade his empyreal radiance, will sometimes 
gleam through the cleft gloom, so is the heart of the 
guiltless mourner occasionally shone upon by that sweet 
beckoner hope. But what source of consolation has 
the gamester'? "What relieving balm when tortured by 
his wretchedness ? His soul is then a volcano of rioting 
passions and remorseless fires. The past is a scene that 
yields no retrospective calm ; the present is but its faith- 
ful commentator. Suppose, as it frequently happens, 
that during his gambling course he had risen on the 
ruins of a fallen victim — and the wrecks of decayed 
youth and blasted genius : what then are the phantoms 
of misery that hover round his reflections'? To have 
ruined one's self is a doleful consummation; but add 
the remembered distraction of those we have adduced, 
and there is nothing equivalent to the recollection of the 
circumstances. I can easily imagine such a one before 
me ; picture him attempting to repose within the cur- 
tained loneliness of his chamber. There is but little 
slumber to visit his eyelids ! He is haunted, like the 
murderer, by the shadowy resemblances of the murdered. 
The blossoming hopes he blighted, the promise of years 
that he wrecked, and the once light bosom he burdened 
with affliction now felt by his own, all throw a ghastly 
hue on his imagination, and wake up the frenzies of 
his brain. Perhaps he was the elder, and once would 



GAMING. 379 

have shuddered at the idea of tempting to destruction 
the counselled associate of his early days. He may have 
beheld the mother's sainted fondness*" for her son, and 
the father's united cares for the welfare of their offspring, 
what are the horrors of his recollections % Who was it 
that, deadened by despair to the sympathies of honor 
and friendship, allured him from his principles, and 
charmed away the bashful regret on his first appearance 
at the haunt of the gamblers'? Himself — and can he 
forget the dreariness of aspect, the wildness of his stare, 
and the convulsions of his person, when he last rushed, 
like a maniac, from his presence — stripped of honor, 
virtue, and happiness ] Convicting conscience condemns 
him as the traducer of the inexperienced, and answer- 
able for all the unknown woes of his after-life. Then, 
as for himself — what is he 1 The perpetrator of his own 
destruction — a reduced, degraded wreck of guilt and 
crime that seem too deep for penitence to absolve. It is 
probable, too, he may be the destroyer of domestic feli- 
city that depended on his welfare for its continuance. 
He may look round and meet the gaze of a heart-broken 
wife — observe the clinging children whose beggary he 
has earned— a parent whose hoary fondness claimed his 
most pious solicitudes. Methinks I can see the remorse- 
ful victim with the cold sweat of anguish on his brow, 
and hear his whispered groans as he turns restlessly on 
his bed! There is nothing overdrawn here: many are 
bis resemblances in the metropolis at this hour. 

And what can the successful gamester possess to 
create his happiness'? If happiness, as we are told, arise 
from the mind, the gamester's is too inhuman to be of a 
mental nature. Suppose him a swindler ; will not the 



380 GAMING. 

dread of detection harrow his bosom and corrode his 
soul? Will the griping clutch of hundreds from a de- 
frauded novice, repay him for his moments of uncom- 
municated torture'? The transitory flush of joy for 
fortunate guile is succeeded by the vengeance of con- 
science, that elicits tortures even amid his struggles of 
fancied delight. Then what dreamy shadows of remorse 
are ever floating before his imagination ! Miserable, 
indeed, is penitence wrestling with fondness for crime. 
If virtue be pursued the haunts of guilt must be deserted, 
the dice-box and long-accustomed fellowships are to be 
relinquished, and the stinging jeers of insulting folly 
must be endured — nor is this all. Tears must be the 
precursors of resolutions, and his plundered victims must 
be repaid, or peace resides not in his breast. But where 
are the thousands which honor and justice are to restore 1 
lavished in dissipation or rendered the purveyors of 
criminal delight. The gambler, therefore, feels it is 
easier to practise than to forsake crime ; and thus his 
heart, after hovering, like the descending eagle, between 
remorse and love for vice, returns to its dreadful propen- 
sities. 

The idea of one human being extracting enjoyment 
from another's misery, is dreadful even for consideration. 
High play is but savageness refined. The barbarian can 
pierce his victims with venomed arrows, or deliver them 
to the devourment of his native beasts ; but in this case, 
death speedily closes his agonies. He that deliberately 
seats himself down with the ardent hope of rising on his 
adversary's downfall, is, in principle, far more cruel than 
the barbarian. True, he plunges no weapon into the 
flesh ; but how deep and cureless are the vulnerations of 



GAMING. 38 1 

the loser's mind; while he leaves him enraptured at his 
conquest and splendid from the completed ruin % It may 
be objected, that both are equally in fault ; since they en- 
deavor for mutual spoliation ; and consequently, cruelty 
is too harsh an application. But does the reciprocity of 
the deed remove its attendant fierceness 1 On the con- 
trary, it only renders it more lamentably observable. It 
should be remembered, too, that the finished gamester 
seldom combats with his peer, but seeks a novice for his 
plunder. The truth is, gambling is an inexcusable dis- 
grace to this country; and an attempt to connect it with 
innocent amusement is only a wretched perversion of the 
term. A social game of cards is, perhaps not culpable, 
where, we suppose, pleasure will not degenerate into ex- 
cess, or benevolence into selfishness. But the routine of 
the regular gambler, one who makes it his profession, and 
braves all consequences, deserves no epithet but greedy 
and merciless. There seems to be a living paradox in 
the present age : charity is the colloquial subject of the 
drawing-room, sympathy and tenderest sentiments drop 
glowing from ready tongues, and yet dinner-parties retire 
from the feast for reciprocal endeavors of plunder ! The 
host will frequently invite his guest, and repay the hospi- 
tality of the table by sending him purseless to his abode ! 
It is a notorious and sickening fact, that many of the 
metropolitan resorts of amusement often contain the 
daughters and mothers quadrilling in the ball-room, 
while the father is ruining himself and their fortunes 
at the card-table. This speaks volumes on the moral 
(Ir^i'ueracy of the times. Even women now — they, 
whose bosoms should be the stainless sanctuaries of none 
but soothing passions — are becoming gamblers. What a 
repulsive spectacle, to observe a female face expressing 



382 GAMING. 

all the feelings of a thorough blackleg ! to observe eyes 
that were made for beaming fondness darting glances of 
inward spleen and resentment ; — lips whence delicate 
tones should only be breathed, curled up in anger and 
masculine sternness ! Once more, and we will leave this 
topic. May we not expect that future years will increase 
the prevalence of feminine gamesters \ Women, whose 
weight of years should be supported by matronly dignity 
and reverential aspect, are now employed from midnight 
to morn at the gambling table, and betray all its con- 
comitant vices in the presence of their youthful offspring. 
What must be the state of society when fashionable 
mothers thus wantonly forget their character, and permit 
their children to witness their depravity — in after-times 
to represent it ! 

Theodore was the son of a country gentleman, equally 
blessed in the affection of father and mother : the days 
of his childhood were attended with those cares and pru- 
dent indulgences so necessary to mould the future man 
for active life and virtuous consistency. Early initiated 
into the duties of self-cultivation, and taught properly to 
estimate the good qualities of the heart, at nineteen he 
was such a son as a father might be proud to recognize. 
Each vacation found his studies greatly advanced, and 
his capacity enlarged for the enjoyments of taste and 
intellectual pursuits. His versed acquaintance with the 
bards of Greece and Rome, together with the delicious 
ones of his own country, had engendered a love for the 
muse ; which, though unexpressed in words, was em- 
balmed in the heart. He examined Nature with the eye 
of a poet, and drew an indescribable inspiration from her 
varied scenery. The grouping clouds of an evening sky 



GAMING. 383 

folding round .the sun, as if in homage for the light of 
day, were to him not merely beautiful — something beyond 
this — a spectacle that awoke visions which were shadowed 
forth in fancy and pensive ecstasies. The stars of night, 
the verdant spread of the distant meadow, the peering 
mountain and the sleeping vale — all were looked upon 
by him with a mental delight. Those who, at this period 
of his life, beheld him, accomplished, gentle, and amiable 
— one who would have trembled at wilful vice — could 
scarcely have imagined that he would ever be the .victim 
of vicious folly ; but such the conclusion of this brief 
sketch will show him. These traits of Theodore's youth- 
ful character are mentioned, in order to illustrate the 
force of corruption, even on a refined soul and cultivated 
imagination. 

At the decease of his father, Theodore arrived in the 
metropolis to pursue the usual course of his chosen pro- 
fession. Dr. Johnson has remarked, " to a man whose 
pleasure is intellectual London is the place." Theodore 
felt this, and had he been blessed with as much firmness as 
refinement of soul, he would have realized all his fancy 
had pictured. He entered on the busy arena of the 
metropolis with sanguine hopes and resolutions, which, 
he thought, would never be broken. His mother, aware 
of the many perilous temptations in London, fondly and 
earnestly alluded to them on their farewell evening. 
She did not expect he would be imprudent, but she had 
known others, similarly situated, to fall ; and, therefore, 
her parting tear was not an omen of her son's misfortune, 
but the fond betrayer of internal anxiousness for his 
welfare. A tear from his mother's eye was ever fol- 
lowed by another from Theodore's witli instantaneous 



384 GAMING. 

sympathy ; and, as he sealed his last kiss on her lips, 
the language of his heart was, " Can I ever deceive or 
pain such a mother] — never!" 

Theodore had not resided long in London, ere his 
father's grave was opened to receive his mother. But 
alas ! a few years had deteriorated his principles and 
debased his heart. The death of a mother for a while 
carried him back to the hours of childhood ; he* thought 
of what he was, and what he had been. It was true his 
letters had deceived her, and that she left the world 
with the conviction of his future prosperity ; still con- 
science was not yet sufficiently stifled not to upbraid him. 
But he was leagued too closely with his ruin to escape 
it ! It would be tedious to trace his career, from the 
moment of his arrival in London, to the morning on 
which he was informed of his mother's death. It will 
be enough to account for the conclusion, to state that 
his profession had introduced him to the acquaintance of 
some dissipated young men ; his natural goodness of 
heart for a while foiled each temptation ; but as long as 
this Avas the case, he was too companionless to be happy. 
He did not continue his resistance ; one visit to a gam- 
bling-house was speedily followed by others. At first 
fortune attended him, and he returned for several even- 
ings with increased property. But it was this very luck 
that occasioned his ruin : he now hazarded to play high, 
and at one game lost all his former gains. By various 
means he had contrived to dispose of his property to 
supply his exigencies, and was now about to risk his 
last sum. Many were the palpitations of his heart 
throughout the day. Sometimes he determined to 
retire for ever from the scene of his ruin ; but then the 






GAMING. 385 

remembrance of his losses, and the hope that this last 
risk would recover them, interrupted the half-formed 
resolution and allured him to the trial. The hour came 
at last, and with a thrilling bosom did Theodore take 
his accustomed seat at the gambling-table. He knew 
that his all was risked, and this fatal truth chilled every 
limb and woke up the cautiousness of terror and hope. 
If he rose a winner he should then be free to renounce 
his present mode of life and return to that of peace and 
virtue ; if not, there was nothing but despair to refer to 
and its dictates to follow ! He sat trembling opposite 
his adversary, and commenced the game. The first two 
throws of the dice were equal on both sides — it now 
depended on the last one for the termination of the con- 
test. Theodore threw — the number was low, though 
not so low but his adversary's might be more so. He 
watched with breathless anxiousness the raising of his 
arm — heard the dice rattle — too plainly saw the icy 
sternness of his adversary's features — murmured a tone 
of anguish — the dice was thrown by Death ! 



When a man owns himself to have been in error, it 
is but telling you in other words that he is wiser than 
he was before. 



He that is going to speak ill of another, let him con- 
sider himself well, and he will hold his peace. 



(iood nature is more agreeable in conversation than 
wit, and it is certain to make its possessor more beloved. 
25 



386 GAMBLING; OR, THE DUPES AND THE SHARPERS. 



GAMBLING ; OR, THE DUPES AND THE 
SHARPERS. 

" A polished, subtle knave, with mellow voice, 
But heart as hard as iron." 

Gambling is not a vice of modern times. It has 
been a theme of moralists for ages. A century and a 
half ago, a distinguished writer classed the whole tribe 
of gamesters under two divisions — dupes and sharpers. 
The dupe is generally a person of some fortune and 
weak intellect. He plays, either because he has become 
infatuated, or that the system is fashionable. Thus, if 
any game of chance be proposed, he will no more refuse 
to make one at the table, than, among a set of hard 
drinkers, he would object to take his glass in turn 
because he is not dry. There is not a more melancholy 
object than a gentleman of sense thus infatuated. He 
makes himself and family a prey to a gang of villains, 
more infamous than highwaymen, and, perhaps, when 
his ruin is completed, he is glad to join the very 
scoundrels who destroyed him, and live upon the spoil 
of others, whom he can draw into the same folly that 
proved so fatal to himself. 

The sharper, on the other hand, is a gamester who 
makes a decent figure in the world, is endowed with 
many amiable qualities, which would appear with great 
lustre were they not eclipsed by the odious character 
which is affixed to his trade. In order to carry on the 
common business of his profession, he must be a man of 
quick and lively parts, attended with a stoical calmness 
of temper, and constant presence of mind. He must 



GAMBLING; OR, THE DUPES AND THE SHARPERS. 387 

smile at the loss of thousands, and not be discomposed 
though ruin stare him in the face. As he is compelled 
to mingle among the rich and the educated, in order to 
secure victims, he must not want politeness and affability, 
and must be master of an ingenious and liberal air, and 
have a seeming openness of behavior. These, be it 
remembered, are portraits sketched one hundred and 
fifty years ago. Time has rolled on ever since, with a 
noiseless but unceasing movement, and yet gamblers 
and gambling are the same. The dupes and the sharpers 
may be found in every leading city of the New World, 
as well as the Old. The vice is the most exciting, 
seductive, and tempting to which human nature can be 
subjected. It wins, dazzles, and betrays. And when, 
too, its agents and ministers, as is generally the case, 
are polished, plausible, and agreeable, the credulous and 
the yielding, especially if idle and with abundant means, 
are readily led astray. In Philadelphia, we are told that 
there are dozens of gambling establishments. Some of 
them abound with a thousand fascinations. They are 
fitted up with elegance, nay, with splendor — some are 
located in the leading thoroughfares, and most of them 
are conducted with an air of such gentility, that the idea 
of vice or villainy seems altogether out of the question 
with the young, the eager, the unpractised, and the 
uninitiated. Nevertheless, a more certain road to ruin 
could not be pointed out. The result is inevitable. 
Alas ! for the infatuated wretches who give themselves 
up to this mocking delusion. The more they indulge, 
the more certain will be their fate. The fascination 
becomes an infatuation, and it at once unmans, masters, 
and controls them. The system throughout is one of 
deceit, hypocrisy, and fraud. The gamester by pro- 



388 GAMBLING; OR, THE DUPES AND THE SHARPERS. 

fession soon becomes heartless, and his only object is to 
win. He cares not whether by fair means or foul. Any 
device, any trick, any fraud will be resorted to, if it can 
be concealed, and detection thus be avoided. Nay, the 
art, to a certain extent, implies subtle fraud, which is 
only regarded as superior skill. If the means employed 
in gambling be cards, they can be marked or arranged 
for the purpose, and thus, while the credulous victim 
deludes himself with the belief that the chances must 
surely turn in his favor, he is only regarded as a misera- 
ble dupe, is plied with wine, is stimulated with chal- 
lenges, and thus, his ruin is only made the more certain. 
It is probable that some of those at the head of the 
leading and most successful gambling "hells" of the 
United States, could name dozens of young men who 
have rushed on step by step, until robbed of their all — 
poverty, and want, and shame, and desperation, and 
despair characterize and close the last hours of their 
existence. Nay, at this moment they may be able to 
see among their visitors individuals who are just begin- 
ning to feel the powers of the temptation, who do not 
imagine the extent to which it may influence and madden 
them, and who are, nevertheless, cultivated with care, 
won on gradually, and thus fitted for the ruin that has 
overtaken so many others. We occasionally hear of 
honorable gamblers, of men who would not take an 
undue advantage ; but we confess that we have our 
doubts. The system is one of iniquity, and the heart 
must be callous indeed, that can look on calmly, and 
participate in a contest, that may not only beggar the 
unguarded, the unsuspecting, and the rash, but which 
may carry anxiety and anguish into the family circle, 
and lead in some cases, to desperation, despair, and 



GAMBLING; OR, THE DUPES AND THE SHARPERS. 389 

suicide. The vice, moreover, is secret to some extent, 
and thus the victim is often ruined, before his friends 
and relatives are able to discover that the monomania 
has seized upon him. Nay, he is prompted, after his 
first losses, to renew his efforts and double his stakes, in 
the hope — vain, mad, and delusive — to recover. But, 
alas ! he is on the downward path, and the chances are 
as a thousand to one that the sharpers into whose 
society he has ventured, and to whose wiles he is sub- 
jected, will never release their grasp until his fortune is 
utterly exhausted. Such, then, is gambling, and such 
its results in a great majority of cases. It is stated that 
many years ago, an old print was exhibited at Oxford, 
in which a Count Guiscard was represented at first sight 
as wearing a hat and feather, embroidered clothes, dia- 
mond buttons, and the full court-dress of those days. 
By pulling a string, however, the folds of the paper were 
shifted, and the face only remained, a new body came 
forward, and the brilliant count appeared only to be a 
devil. How many polished knaves, similarly arrayed, 
may be found as the master spirits of the gambling 
" hells" of this and other cities. 



A hearty laugh is known, the world over, to be a 
healing promoter ; it elevates the spirits, enlivens the 
circulation, and is marvellously contagious in a good 
sense. 



Accustom yourself to a strict observance of your duty 
in ;ill respects, and it will in time be as troublesome to 
omit or violate it, as it is to many people to practise it. 



390 THE GAMESTER. 



THE GAMESTER. 

Loud hovvl'd the winter storm — athwart the sky 
Rush'd the big clouds — the midnight gale was hign ; 
O'er the proud city sprang th' avenging flash, 
And tower and temple trembled to the crash 
Of the great thunder-peal. Again the light 
Swift tore the dark veil from the brow of night ; 
And, ere the far-chas'd darkness, closing round 
As the flame vanish'd, fell still more profound, 
Again the near-heard tempest, wild and dread, 
Spake in a voice that might awake the dead ! 
Yet while the lightning burn'd — the thunder roar'd- 
Ancl even Virtue trembled — and ador'd — 
Alone was heard within the gamester's hell 
The gamester's curse — the oath — the frantic yell! 
Fix'd to one spot — intense — the burning eye 
Mark'd not the flash — saw but the changeful die ! 
And, deaf to heaven's high peal — one demon vice 
Possess'd their souls — Triumphant Avarice ! 

Loud howl'd the winter storm ; night wore away 
Too slow, and thousands watch'd and wish'd for day 
And there was one poor, lonely, lovely thing, 
Who sat and shudder'd as the wild gale's wing 
Rush'd by — all mournfully. Her children slept 
As the poor mourner gaz'd — and sigh'd — and wept ! 
Why sits that anguish on her faded brow 1 
Why droops her eye? Ah, Florio, where art thou? 
Flown are thy hours of dear domestic bliss — 
The fond embrace — the husband's — father's kiss — 



THE GAMESTER. 391 

Bless'd tranquil hours to Love and Virtue given, 
Delicious joys that made thy home a heaven ? 
Flown — and forever; love — fame — virtue — sold 
For lucre — for the sordid thirst of gold ; 
The craving, burning wish that will not rest, 
The vulture-passion of the human breast — 
The thirst for that which — granted or denied — 
Still leaves — still leaves — the soul unsatisfied, 
Just as the wave of Tantalus flows by, 
Cheating the lip and mocking the fond eye ! 

Yet oft array'd in all their genuine truth, 
Rose the sweet visions of his early youth; 
More bright — more beautiful those visions rise, 
As cares increase, on our regretful eyes ; 
And when the storms of life infuriate roll, 
Unnerve the arm, and shake th' impassive soul, 
Then Memory, always garrulous, will tell 
The glowing story of our youth too well; 
And scenes will rise upon the pensive view, 
Which Memory's pencil will portray too true ! 
Thus when Repentance warm'd his aching breast, 
He turn'd him, tearful, to those scenes so bless'd, 
And fresh they came — a dear, departed throng, 
Of joys that wrung the heart, by contrast strong — 
Lost, lov'd delight that forc'd the frequent sigh, 
And chill'd the life-blood while they cliarm'd the eye ! 
Could he forget when first — O thrilling hour ! 
He wooed his Julia in her native bower'? 
Forget'? the tender walk — the gate — the cot — 
The impassioned vow — ah, could they be forgot? 
Sweet noons — sweet eyes- — when all — below — above, 
Was rapture — and the hours were wing'd by love ? 



392 THE GAMESTER. 

But chief one dear remembrance — one more bright 

Than all, though cherish'd — rush'd upon his sight — 

The morn that, blushing in her virgin charms, 

Gave the wrong'd Julia to his eager arms ! 

Ah, wrong'd — for though Remorse full deeply stung 

His bosom, to the damning vice he clung ; 

And she, poor victim, had not power to stay 

The wanderer on his wild and desperate way ; 

While round her, ever, sternly — fiercely — sweep 

Views of the future — gloomy — dark — and deep ; 

Prophetic glances ! he has left again 

His sacred home, to seek the gamester's den ! 

Ah, aptly term'd a hell, for oft Despair 

And Suicide, twin brothers, revel there'? 

Awake, infatuate youth, for Death is nigh, 

Guides the dread card, and shakes the fateful die ! 

Awake, ere yet the monster lay thee low, 

All that thou lovest perish in that blow ! 

The strong temptation — firmly — nobly — spurn; 

Home — children — wife — may yet be thine ; return 

To virtue and be happy ; but, 'tis o'er — 

Stripp'd of his all — he may return no more! 

Ruin'd he stands — the tempter plies his part — 

As the head reels, and sinks the bursting heart! 

With fell Despair his glaring eyeballs roll, 

And all the demon fires his maclden'd soul; 

The bullet speeds — upon the blood-stain'd floor 

He lies — and Play has one pale victim more ! 



Better a dinner of herbs whare love is, than a stalled 
ox and hatred therewith. 



BRIDLE YE TOUR TONGUES. 



393 




BRIDLE YE YOUR TONGUES. 



Seest thou the man that is hasty in 
his words ? there is more hope of a 
fool than of him. 

He that keepeth his mouth keepeth 
his life but he that openeth wide his 
lips, shall have destruction. 

Death and life are in the power of 
the tongue : and they that love it 
shall eat the fruit thereof. 

There is that spcaketh like the 
piercings of a sword : but the tongue 
of the wise is health. 

A fool's mouth is his destruction, 
and his lips are the snare of his soul. 

Whoso keepeth his mouth and his 
tongue, keepeth his soul from trou- 
bles. 

In the multitude of words there 
wanteth not sin : but he that refrain- 
itli his lips is wise. 

Pleasant words are as an honey- 
comb, sweet to the soul, and health 
to the bones. 



He that hath knowledge spareth 
his words : and a man of understand- 
ing is of an excellent spirit. 

Even a fool, when he holdeth his 
peace, is counted wise ; and he that 
shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of 
understanding. 

A fool uttereth all his mind : but a 
wise man keepeth it in till afterwards. 

The lips of the righteous know what 
is acceptable : but the mouth of the 
wicked speaketh forwardness. 

In all labor there is profit: but the 
talk of the lips tendeth only to pen- 
ury. 

The lips of the wise disperse knowl- 
edge : but the heart of the foolish 
doeth not so. 

A word fitly spoken is like apples 
of gold in pictures cf silver. 



394 GOVERNMENT OF THE TONGUE. 



GOVERNMENT OF THE TONGUE. 

The tongue, as the principal organ of speech, is em- 
ployed to express the thoughts of the mind and the 
emotions of the heart, and hence its efficiency in the 
production of good and evil. According to the internal 
disposition, it may be used to abuse or conciliate, to 
provoke to wrath or to pacify, to tempt to evil or to 
dissuade, to misrepresent or to speak truth, to destroy 
reputation or to defend, to blaspheme or to pray, to dis- 
honor or to celebrate goodness. An evil tongue, which 
is not under the government of sound principles, is a 
mischief of incalculable magnitude. Words are inade- 
quate to portray the. havoc it may bring on families, 
neighborhoods, and even nations. False, insidious and 
malignant, it may fatally wound the objects of its attack, 
and destroy peace, character, and life. It is the devil's 
favorite agency for scattering firebrands, arrows, and 
death through the world. 

The tongue, when properly regulated, is equally potent 
for good. Its words of truth enlighten ; its words of 
kindness are an excellent oil to mollify and soothe the 
feelings. It is best employed when engaged in celebrat- 
ing the praises of God, and in promoting His glory. 

How is the tongue to be regulated 1 is a question of 
no ordinary importance. The remedy for its unruliness 
must be radical ; no system of rules will be available, 
unless the fountain of thought and feeling be purified. 
It is the instrument of the passions, and hence it can be 
controlled only by first controlling them. Grace in the 
heart will soon evince itself by grace on the lips. When 
wrath, envy, and every evil feeling of the heart are kept 



GOVERNMENT OF THE TONGUE. 395 

in proper subjection, the tongue will not err. When 
those graces, which the Spirit of God infuses, receive a 
cordial welcome in the soul, the tongue will speak peace 
and good-will to men. Rules, even to the most gracious 
person, may also be of use. Let there be a determined 
purpose to control our speech, let there be vigilance in 
guarding its movements, let caution and deliberation 
mark our words, and especially let us learn when to be 
silent. Solomon insists upon this latter as among the 
most important directions for the government of the 
tongue ; we should desire always to remember, that the 
wonderful faculty of speech has been communicated to us 
not to be an instrument of evil but of good. May it be 
our aim to have our conversations always seasoned with 
grace, speaking lovingly and kindly to our fellow-men, 
and not provokingly or resentfully. We should avoid 
both foolish and hurtful words. When we can do good 
by speaking, let us not refrain ; when we cannot do 
good, let us be silent. Oh for grace to eradicate every 
feeling from our hearts which would prompt vain or sin- 
ful words, and which may be in us a fountain sending 
forth only bitter waters. We are as accountable for our 
words as for our actions ; let us remember this, and set 
a watch on our lips. Above all, may our tongues be em- 
ployed in celebrating the praises of God ; and when, at 
the resurrection of the just, we shall be clothed with a 
new body, may we have a seraph's tongue to praise Him 
to all eternity ! 



True strength, real recuperation, comes from the di- 
gestion of nutritious food, and can come from no other 
source. 



396 TALE-BEARING. 



TALE-BEARING. 



A Tale-bearer revealeth secrets: 
but he that is of a faithful spirit con- 
cealeth the matter. 

Where no wood is, there the fire 
goeth out : so where there is ho tale- 
bearer, the strife ceaseth. 



He that covereth a transgression 
seeketh love ; but he that repeateth a 
matter separateth very friends. 

The words of a tale-bearer are as 
wounds, and they go down into the 
innermost parts of the belly. 



Some from a spirit of mischief, and some from sheer 
ignorance and idleness, are betrayed into the vice which 
is here condemned. When it springs from the former it 
is atrocious, and is identical with slander, making light 
of a neighbor's reputation, and peace of mind, and caring 
little whether the evil report it circulates be true or false. 
When it arises from an idle spirit of gossip, it may have 
less atrocity, but is still criminal, and in its consequences 
may be equally injurious. The love of news is with many 
a besetting sin ; the hearing or communicating of which 
constitutes with them the spice of life. In the neglect 
of personal and family duties they will gad about from 
neighbor to neighbor, and what is thus gathered, particu- 
larly if scandalous, will be as liberally retailed. Time 
and labor are freely expended in giving currency to an 
evil report. What havoc is made of reputation at little 
coteries of such people ! With what zest will they pro- 
claim the alleged failings of neighbors, feebly attempting 
to palliate the iniquity of the act by the qualification of 
hoping that the rumors are unfounded, or that they can 
scarcely be true ! They care little about authorities, and 
as it is not a part of their policy to inquire into the 
truth of what they have heard, the kitchen is as good 



TALE-BEARING. 397 

authority with them as the drawing-room, a notorious 
falsifier as good as a credible witness. Woe to the in- 
dividual who falls into the hands, and is left to the 
tender mercies of such inveterate newsmongers and gos- 
sips ! He may expect his most innocent actions to be 
distorted, his motives misinterpreted, his most trivial 
failings magnified at each successive repetition, so that 
his own portrait as drawn by them would frighten him. 
Every village and neighborhood embraces persons of 
this character, with whom it is unsafe to have intercourse. 
Tale-bearers seldom have much regard for truth, and 
freely draw on their imagination for the embellishments 
of their stories. Never intrust a secret to such persons, 
for " a tale-bearer revealeth secrets, although very friends 
are thereby separated." A domestic or social strife is 
to them a rich treat, and the fire will not go out while 
they can feed it with fuel. Reader, would you stand 
aloof from so pestiferous a vice % Be a keeper at home, 
no busybody in other men's matters, but attentive to 
domestic duties, and the cultivation of the social affec- 
tions. 

My soul avoid the mean and dangerous vice of tale- 
bearing. It would be iniquitous to spread a false report 
to the injury of thy neighbor, and it should pain thee to 
hear a true one to his discredit. Flee the society of 
tattlers, that thou mayest escape the infection of their 
discourse. Remember the scriptural warning, "With 
what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged, and with 
what measure ye mete it shall be measured to you again." 
Repulse the tale-bearer, and admonish him to cast the 
beam out of his own eye, that he may be able to detect 
the mote in that of his neighbor; and remember, a dog 
that brings a bone will carry a bone. 



398 THE POLICY OF MINDING ONE'S OWN BUSINESS. 



THE POLICY OF MINDING ONE'S OWN 
BUSINESS. 

" O wad some power the giftie gie us, 
To see ourselves as itkers see us." 

It is curious to observe the disposition that prevails 
with many people to interfere with the business of their 
neighbors and to neglect their own. They are always 
on the lookout for something new, some fresh piece of 
scandal, some misrepresentation or calumny, and really 
glow with delight when they are able to indulge their pecu- 
liar propensity. There are, in every large community, 
individuals who, for years, have been busily engaged, day 
in and day out, in hunting up the shortcomings of their 
fellow-creatures, and spreading the details before the 
world in as vivid language as possible. The idea of 
attending to their own business never seems to strike 
them. Their own follies and frailties are scarcely 
noticed at all, and are regarded as of no account what- 
ever. But let another take a false step, or let any 
member of a neighboring family commit an oversight or 
an error, and the fact is caught up with eagerness, is 
retailed from door to door, and however trifling, it is 
magnified into a grave and serious affair. In the great 
multitude of cases, the successful in life are those who 
attend to their own business, while the reverse is ex- 
actly the case with the intermeddlers, the scandal- 
mongers, the curiosity-hunters, the mischief-makers, and 
the Paul Prys generally of the hour. And how can it 
be otherwise'? How can a man watch his own affairs 
thoroughly and properly — how can he attend to his own 



THE POLICY OF MINDING ONE'S OWN BUSINESS. 399 

business, fulfil his engagements, and discharge his duties, 
if he be engaged four-fifths of his time with the affairs 
of other people? The idlers to be found at the corners 
of streets, the loungers of bar-rooms, and all the numer- 
ous class of do-nothings, who constitute such a pest to 
society, are, for the most part, to be ranked among the 
intermeddlers of the time, who are on the qui vive for 
something new and racy, something calculated to injure 
this man's credit, or to wound that man's character, 
something that has merely the shadow of truth by way 
of foundation, but may be exaggerated by distortion 
and perversion into the serious, painful, and discredit- 
able. If the good old system of minding one's own 
business could only be recognized and practised univer- 
sally, the wheels of society would roll along much more 
smoothly, there would be less unkindness and ill-will in 
the world, and far more comfort, courtesy, true social 
enjoyment, and genuine contentment and happiness. 
We are told that this country is peculiarly addicted to 
the infirmity of idle curiosity. As a people we seem to 
be remarkably meddlesome. The affairs of our neigh- 
bors are watched with singular vigilance, and their 
modes of dress, their style of living, their revenue, the 
very food they eat, are constant subjects of comment and 
criticism. This is the case not only in the large cities 
but in the small towns. It thus becomes necessary to 
live, not as one could wish, not as seems best suited to 
one's family and circumstances, not in conformity with 
true economy and self-independence, but so as to harmo- 
nize with the views or to escape the animadversions of 
the critics and lookers-on outside. And hence it is that 
so many live for others and to satisfy the judgment of 
others, and not in conformity witli their own views and 



400 THE POLICY OF MINDING ONE'S OWN BUSINESS. 

for the gratification of their own wishes. Nay, there 
are thousands who have gone deliberately to ruin, who 
have sacrificed themselves in fact, rather than be sub- 
jected to the severe remarks of the curious, and prying, 
and intermeddling. In other words, they have lived 
beyond their means, and simply with the object of satis- 
fying the many who neglect their own business for the 
purpose of watching over, analyzing, and speculating 
upon the affairs of others. In some cases this nuisance 
of prying, retailing, and falsifying becomes intolerable, 
and the sensitive and diffident are absolutely made 
miserable thereby. Doubtless some of our readers could 
furnish forcible illustrations. Nothing is more annoying 
than a consciousness that some idle and malicious indi- 
vidual is constantly on the lookout for an opportunity to 
misrepresent and calumniate, that his disposition is one 
of animosity and malevolence combined, and that in con- 
sequence of some morbid perversion of the moral nature, 
the anxiety and unhappiness of another constitute a 
source of satisfaction to such a specimen of the inter- 
meddling, the suspicious, and the malignant. How 
often does it happen that three or four individuals are 
engaged together in confidential conversation, when 
another makes his appearance, listens against all rules 
of propriety and gentlemanly breeding, catches up a 
word here and there, and then hastens elsewhere to 
repeat and distort. It is the easiest thing in the world 
to find flaws in the human character. No mortal man 
is perfect. There are few individuals without their 
infirmities, and there are few families without some 
painful associations, some erring member, or some un- 
fortunate connection. But it is a part of duty, of 
courtesy, and of brotherly goodwill, to overlook and avoid 



THE POLICY OF MINDING ONE'S OWN BUSINESS. 401 

all allusion to such sad features or circumstances. Or, 
if compelled to advert to them, to do so in a spirit of 
forbearance, generosity, and magnanimity. Not so, 
however, the intermeddler. His disposition is to make 
bad worse, to exaggerate follies into crimes, to carry 
discord into families that were before tranquil and happy, 
to hunt out forgotten errors and frailties, and recapitu- 
late them in strong language — in short to become a pest, 
a nuisance, and a curse to social life. The penalty, too, 
is fearful for himself. He is certain to be despised and 
contemned, to be disliked and avoided. His own affairs 
will infallibly go behindhand, and his. presence be 
avoided like that of a moral pestilence. 

MISCHIEF-MAKERS AND SCANDAL-MONGERS. 

" Curse the tongue 
"Whence slanderous rumor, like the adder's drop, 
Distils her venom, withering friendship's faith, 
Turning love's favor." 

" The ignoble mind 
Loves ever to assail with secret blow 
The loftier, purer beings of their kind." 

We some days since saw an individual, quite advanced 
in life, who was busily engaged in running around among 
his friends and acquaintances for the purpose of point- 
ing out and commenting upon a slight error that had 
been committed by a citizen of considerable standing in 
society. The matter was very trifling, and was so con- 
sidered by all of moderate and generous views. But, 
not so the veteran mischief-maker and scandal-monger. 
He, in the first place, seemed quite excited and delighted 
that an opportunity was afforded of indulging in criti- 
26 



402 THE POLICY OF MINDING ONE'S OWN BUSINESS. 

cism, fretfulness, and complaint ; and in the second, was 
eager and anxious to magnify a " mote into a mountain," 
and was moreover quite annoyed because all the world 
would not agree with him. In one instance he met with 
a kind-hearted friend, who remonstrated at the unchari- 
table disposition he manifested, expressed surprise that 
he should take such a prejudiced and unkind view of 
the case, and remarked that it was " always the liberal 
and benevolent policy to overlook or apologize for an 
error so insignificant, especially as it had been committed 
without any harsh or base motive." But the mischief- 
maker could not or would not be convinced. He was 
determined to put the worst construction upon human 
motives and movements — insinuated more than he said 
— intimated that this "was not the first mishap of the 
kind," raked up some by-gone follies, and thus seemed 
resolved upon staining a character that is deservedly re- 
garded as bright and pure as that of any citizen of the com- 
munity. We notice the incident as one of a thousand 
that occur from time to time, of a like nature, and founded 
upon a similar disposition of malevolence. There are 
among mankind too many who seem to take delight in 
making their fellow-creatures miserable ; who, either 
from envy, jealousy, or an evil disposition, are never so 
fully in their element as when they are detailing or ex- 
aggerating some piece of misrepresentation or scandal, 
some story calculated to wound the feelings, to blacken 
the reputation, and to excite suspicion and distrust. No 
matter how unfounded the allegation, it is all the same 
to them. They adopt the darkest view in every case, 
and then deliberately proceed to add still more sombre 
tints. Their first object in the morning appears to be 
to discover some novelty in the way of defamation, and 



THE POLICY OF MINDING ONE'S OWN BUSINESS. 403 

their next to circulate the story as widely as possible. 
They never think of the consequences to family and 
friends, or, if they do, they are utterly heartless upon 
the subject. Mischief, scandal, the misery of others, 
appear to be their delight, and they devote not a little 
of their time and means to the indulgence of a disposi- 
tion and propensity truly lamentable and criminal. They 
seldom have a good word or a bright portrait for any 
one. They rarely compliment or utter anything suited 
to excite a pleasurable emotion. They look upon the 
world with jealous or jaundiced eyes, and turn with ill- 
concealed irritation from a picture of unalloyed happi- 
ness. Detail to them a calumny of the most startling 
character, and calculated to involve dozens of individu- 
als in mental agony, and their eyes will dance with joy ! 
This is no fancy sketch. There are, alas ! too many 
originals of the description that we have here ventured 
to portray. Mischief-makers and scandal-mongers have 
been the bane of society for ages. They have been the 
authors of a fearful amount of human suffering. They 
have broken many a gentle heart, and prostrated, as by 
some secret and invisible power, many a strong and 
vigorous frame. Nothing is so subtle, nothing so ma- 
lignant as cautious and calculating slander. The ca- 
lumny does its work before the discovery is made that it 
is calumny. The victim finds himself distrusted, avoided, 
and lie seeks for the cause in vain. The assassin of 
character is not a whit less culpable in a moral point of 
view than the assassin of life. lie strikes at and en- 
deavors to destroy, what indeed is dearer than life. And 
\< t how common is this vice, how great is the propensity 
to scandal! Htm- reputation is trifled with, and fair 
fame imperilled! How uncharitable are mankind gene- 



404 THE POLICY OF MINDING ONE'S OWN BUSINESS. 

rally. A story is told calculated to injure, and without 
inquiring for a moment as to the real facts, it passes 
from lip to lip, gathering strength with every new ver- 
sion, until at last the habitual scandal-monger not only 
asserts the truth of his own knowledge, but is quite 
indignant when a doubt is expressed, or a word of 
generous sympathy is interposed. The object appears 
to be to trample down and destroy, and he cares not 
who suffers. 

It often happens, too, that slight •misunderstandings 
occur among neighbors — misunderstandings which, by 
mutual forbearance and generous conciliation, could and 
would be readily adjusted. But the parties, sometimes 
one and sometimes both, become embittered, and thus 
neighbors and friends are soon converted into slandering 
monomaniacs, implacable and deadly foes. The spirit of 
hatred seems to grow with their growth and strengthen 
with their strength, and they revile and defame with 
such a constancy and determination, that they annoy 
all with whom they come in contact. A case of this 
kind was recently pointed out to us. Two gentlemen 
were engaged together in a heavy speculation, and 
jointly purchased a large property. In closing the affair 
a trifling difficulty occurred, and although they resided 
within a stone's throw of each other, a coolness, a 
jealousy, a dislike became apparent between their families. 
One was somewhat impetuous and violent for a time, but 
the feeling soon subsided. The other, however, seems 
to have imbibed a deathless and vindictive hatred — 
which he apparently communicated to all his domestic 
circle — and thus the old friend is assailed " behind his 
back," on every occasion and in almost every form. His 
errors and imperfections — and who is without them? — 



THE POLICY OF MINDING ONE'S OWN BUSINESS. 405 

are canvassed in the most malignant spirit, and he is 
painted in the most revolting colors. The affair has 
thus gone on for months, and will probably end in a 
suit to obtain legal redress, or at least an. exemption 
from further malicious assaults of the kind. But, Ave 
repeat, the vice of scandal is by far too common. It is 
a heartless, a wicked propensity. If we cannot say a 
good word of our neighbors and friends, let us at least 
keep silent. If we cannot assist and brighten the repu- 
tation of those with whom we mingle and associate, let 
us at least avoid exaggerated stories, falsehood, and 
calumny. The mischief-maker, the cool and deliberate 
plotter of scandal, is indeed a pest to society, but the 
mischief-monger — the individual who catches up and 
circulates the fabrications of others — is scarcely less ex- 
cusable. The result no man can foretell. We believe 
that not only many a character has been destroyed, but 
many a life has been sacrificed by a malignant, plausible, 
and carefully concocted slander. 



Let the family table be always a meeting-place of 
pleasantness, affection, and peace, and for the exhibition 
of all the sweeter feelings of domestic life. 



A man had better lose a dinner, better sacrifice the 
earnings of a day, than repress the call of nature. 



A contented mind and a good conscience will make a 
man happy in all conditions. 



406 THE GRUMBLER. 



THE GRUMBLER. 

" The faults of others he cou'.d well discern, 
But not his own." 

Has the reader never been annoyed by the almost 
perpetual mutterings, fault-findings, forebodings, and 
complaints of a confirmed grumbler — one who appears 
to have Argus eyes for the errors and imperfections of 
others, but who can never discover or appreciate any 
merits or accomplishments 1 If the answer be in the 
negative, we beg leave to offer our congratulations. 
We can conceive of no greater pest of society, no more 
incorrigible bore, no more abominable nuisance, than a 
constitutional and habitual grumbler — one who goes 
about picking flaws in character, taking exception to 
this opinion or to that, always dissatisfied, never com- 
fortable himself, and ever disposed to mar the happiness 
of others. The weather is either too hot or too cold, 
the wind too high or too low, business too brisk or too 
dull, while nothing within the range of human vision is 
exactly as it should be or as it might be. A gloom 
seems to have settled upon the mind of the wretched 
grumbler, and thus he sees and views everything through 
a hazy medium. The success of a friend, instead of 
being a matter of rejoicing, is distorted into some perilous 
piece of misfortune, while some sad prediction is made 
as to the deplorable effects in the future. The grumbler, 
moreover, while ever eager and ready to depreciate the 
efforts of others, is rarely able to equal those efforts 
himself. It is this very consciousness in some cases, 
that induces him to criticize and complain. He cannot 



THE GRUMBLER. 407 

attain the same degree of skill and perfection, and hence 
he endeavors to underrate the faculty in others. To find 
fault is the easiest thing in the world; although the 
quality is most unamiable. There are many persons, 
indeed, who can do little else. They go through the 
world as grumblers. Indoors or out, it is the same. 
They seem to have no faculty for appreciation. The 
kindest act will be excepted to. Their best friends will 
be found fault with. No matter how successful in busi- 
ness, they will still mutter and evince dissatisfaction. 
They are not only unhappy themselves, but they strive 
to make all unhappy who are dependent upon or live 
within their influence. They get up in the morning, 
and commence grumbling, and they continue the annoy~ 
ance throughout the day. Serve them however honestly 
and faithfully, and they will nevertheless manifest dis- 
content. The infirmity is not only unfortunate, but it 
is vicious. 

The true philosophy of life is to render the path before 
us as smooth and easy as possible, and at the same time 
to contribute all in our power to the comfort, convenience, 
and prosperity of others. Above all things, we should 
manifest a proper sense of kindness and appreciation. 
We should do unto others as we would they should do 
unto us. What can be more ungracious or more un- 
grateful than coldness or complaint, on the part of an 
individual whose fortunes we have endeavored to pro- 
mote, or whose position we have exerted our best 
energies to assist and elevate \ The effect, too, must be 
chilling and depressing. If, we are apt to argue, our 
kindness is misunderstood or misappreciated, we should, 
perhaps, be more careful of the future. But, we repeat, 
the grumbler can never be satisfied. Nay, we could 



408 THE GRUMBLER. 

single out a case, in which an individual of this class is 
so noted for his propensity, that all who know him 
expect on his approach to hear him utter some ill- 
natured remark, to chronicle some misfortune, or to 
mutter some complaint. He is either sour, cross, or 
bitter by nature, or he has permitted the habit of grum- 
bling so to grow upon him, that he cannot help himself. 
The disease has become chronic, so to speak. It forms 
part and parcel of his character. A kind word from his 
lips would be a novelty — a pleasant smile upon his 
countenance, a rare emanation — a cordial grasp of his 
hand, something altogether extraordinary. In what 
broad and happy contrast is the cheerful and contented 
— the individual whose heart is a perpetual fountain of 
sunshine and good humor, who is ever ready to say a 
kind thing, or to do a good turn, and who avoids every- 
thing that is harsh, malevolent, or calculated to wound. 
The one is a source of constant misery — the other of 
constant pleasure. The one brightens and cheers the 
pathway of life, the other darkens and depresses. The 
one is ever welcome, the other is exactly the reverse. 
The one goes through the world, appreciating and appre- 
ciated, pouring balm into the wounds of the afflicted, 
and giving hope and courage to the timid, the unfortu- 
nate, and the despairing, while the other seems to delight 
in making bad worse, and in extinguishing by some 
melancholy foreboding, or distorted and gloomy view, 
everything like hope, improvement, or prosperity. The 
death-bed of the grumbler must be a scene of misery 
and apprehension. The shadows that have flitted across 
and darkened his footsteps through life, must assume a 
deeper hue as he is about to shuffle off this mortal coil. 
The cup of misery that he has prepared for others, can- 



THE GRUMBLER. 409 

not but seem about to be applied to his own lips. He 
can have no joyous recollection of favors rendered, 
hearts gladdened, and homes made happy through his 
influence, but bitterness, and penitence, and remorse 
must surround his dying couch. Life has been to him 
a protracted grumble, and it will expire in an agonized 
groan. The cheerful spirit, on the other hand — the 
benevolent, the generous, and the appreciating — will, as 
the evening of the last day comes on, find many happy 
visions flitting through his mind — visions of kind things 
said, and good things done ; visions of buoyant hearts, 
and joyous voices, and happy faces ; and these will not 
only take away from the bitterness of death, but they 
will animate and nerve the soul in its onward flight to 
the upward regions of eternity. The good that we do 
here will not only live with us, and accompany us to the 
portals of the grave, but it will there plume the wings 
of the spirit, and convey us in hope and in faith to the 
regions of the blessed. His is the desirable fate, who, 
as the things of this world fade upon his mortal vision, 
feels the happy consciousness of having contributed to 
the utmost of his ability to the social, moral, rational, 
and religious enjoyment of his friends, his family, and 
his fellow creatures — who, in brief, is confident and 
conscious that he has appreciated the kindness of others, 
and has never committed the injustice of complaint 
without sufficient cause. 



Let him who stammers stamp his foot on the ground 
at tlic same time that he utters each syllable, and stam- 
mering is impossible, 



410 



THE FATAL SCROLL, 




THE FATAL SCROLL. 

In Pilgrim's guise I brought the fatal scroll, 
Which told a Maiden of her Lover's death ; 

Grief took possession of her ardent soul — 
She bless'd his memory, and resign'd her breath : 

Oft had she vow'd to love no other youth , 

That vow she kept ! — an instance rare of truth ! 

THE SCROLL. 



The maiden's cheek blush'd ruby bright, 

And her heart beat quick with its own delight ; 

Again she should dwell on those vows so dear, 

Almost as if her lover was near. 

Little deem'd she that letter would tell 

How that true lover fought and fell. 

The maiden read till her cheek grew pale — 

Yon drooping eye tells all the tale : 

She sees her own knight's last fond prayer, 

And she reads in that scroll her heart's despair. 

Oh ! grave, how terrible art thou 

To young hearts bound in one fond vow. 

O ! human love, how vain is thy trust ; 

Hope ! how soon thou art laid in dust. 



THE FATAL SCROLL. 411 

Thou fatal pilgrim, who art thou, 

xis thou fling' st the black veil from thy shadowy brow? 

I know thee now, dark lord of the tomb, 

By the pale maiden's withering bloom : 

The light is gone from her glassy eye, 

And her cheek is struck by mortality ; 

From her parted lip there comes no breath 

For that scroll was fate — its bearer — Death. 



TO THE MAID. 

Why weep'st thou, fair maid % tho' down to the tomb 
Thy first love hath gone in the pride of his bloom ; 
His soul, in the robe of sweet youthfulness drest, 
Hath ascended to joy in the realms of the blest. 

Why weep'st thou fair maid 1 thy lov'd one e'en now, 
With a cherub's bright halo encircling his brow, 
Unites in a song with the blest, near the throne 
Of a king, 'neath whose sceptre no sorrows are known. 

Then weep not, fair maiden ! 'twere better to part, 
In his youthful days, with the pride of thy heart, 
Than to see him a groom on the world's troubled sea — 
Of its tempests the sport, and a sorrow to thee. 



No n%an of reflection can help respecting the industri- 
ous mechanic, any more than he can help looking with 
contemptuousness on the well-dressed loafer, or the aris- 
tocratic spendthrift, who would not care to be seen talk- 



ing to the toil-worn workman. 



412 LOVE. 



LOVE. 



Pure and spontaneous love is always unforeseen, 
always perfectly disinterested. Reason may suggest the 
propriety of an attachment, interest may ardently desire 
it, management may bring the parties together with all 
possible address, but it is all to no purpose. There must 
be spontaneous preference on account of some peculiari- 
ties of taste and temperament, which no arrangement of 
outward circumstances can bring about. This incipient, 
mysterious, but irresistible attraction seems as nearly 
providential as anything which takes place by human 
agency. It springs up unbidden, or it springs not at all. 
This attachment is intended to be the deepest, most 
sacred, and permanent, and is indicated by the deep hold 
it takes upon the whole nature. It is not a thing which 
a man can put on or off, and trifle with as he pleases. 
The roughest nature is subdued to gentleness, the most 
trifling becomes serious, the most sarcastic and untama- 
ble are reduced to sighs and tears. 



It is a melancholy thing to know that so many of our 
young ladies of the fashionable world should be given to 
the habit of painting their faces at all ; but especially 
of using dangerous poisons, and jeoparding their lives 
and health for the sake of producing a little higher color 
on their cheeks, or a little darker eyebrows. Young 
ladies, you are injuring your health by the use of these 
poisonous cosmetics, and you deceive nobody. You 
make as great fools of yourselves as do the old men who 
dve their beards and hair. 



WOMAN: AS A WIFE AND MOTHER. 413 



WOMAN; 



HER PROPER SPHERE AS A WIFE AND MOTHER. 

Many are the subjects which have enlisted the pens 
of the gifted and good, but woman has ever been a 
theme for the poet's fancy, and he has extolled her 
virtues through all ages, so that at the present day, when 
Cupid wounds a heart 'tis no uncommon thing for the 
gallant Adonis to address a sonnet to the Venus of his 
admiration. Do we turn the pages of poetic lore, we 
find each gifted son of genius declaring in impassioned 
verse his attachment for one of the gentler sex. Byron 
has his Mary, and Burns loves to speak of his blue-eyed 
Highland Mary; Tasso sings of his Lenore, poor Pe- 
trarch, too, dwells upon the love of his Laura; and, 
while Spenser enjoys the society of the fair Rosalinde, 
Dante, 'mid Italia's bowers, worships the lovely Beatrice. 
But my muse would sing of an humbler name, ne'er 
by poet's pen eulogized; one toward whom my affec- 
tions flow as naturally as do the waters of the mighty 
river into the bosom of old ocean. One who taught me 
first to love that name my infant lips pronounced when 
prattling and playing at her side. With all my childish 
wants she was conversant, and to all my petty grievances 
lent a listening car; and as years sped on, and I no 
longer frolicked a merry child, the same kind hand led 
me in virtue's path, and the same voice bade me shun 
the evil and pursue the good. Words of love and 
wisdom ever dwelt upon her lips, those of a harsh and 
bitter sound were unknown to her; be mine the lot to 



414 WOMAN; AS A WIFE AND MOTHER. 

imitate her example and follow in her footsteps! 'lis 
a poor tribute to render one so worthy, but it comes from 
a heart beating with the warmest emotions of filial de- 
votion — for I offer it to my mother — and her name was 
Elizabeth. 

Through every land, and in every clime of this bound- 
less universe, is there not some shrine to which the heart 
turns with reverence, on which our fondest affections are 
centred, and which awakens bright hopes of an antici- 
pated future, or recalls pleasant recollections of the past] 
Yes, life possesses such to all. Impressed with tenfold 
solicitude for the welfare of woman, deeply sensible of 
your great importance and respectability in society, and 
convinced that, on your intellectual improvement, the 
prosperity, nay, the very existence, of society depends. 
The progress of the country is depending upon you. 
You are, I may say, the very backbone of humanity, 
the fountain of life from which every current flows, or 
else dries up : every human being is impregnated with 
the qualities of your soul. A nation without woman 
would be "a world without a sun." Seeing the host of 
dangers which will attend you in your journey through 
life, and being assured, that unless you take prudence 
for your guide, you will undoubtedly be enveloped in the 
vortex of vanity and sensuality which will infallibly 
imbitter your future days. Being thus impressed with 
these sentiments I take the liberty, with the most 
respectful considerations, and the purest intentions, to 
suggest a few thoughts for your serious consideration, 
which, like beacons to the mariner, may point out the 
dangerous rocks and shoals, that are profusely inter- 
spersed through the devious paths of folly. I hope you 
will lay aside, for a little time, the novel and the romance, 



WOMAN; AS A WIFE AND MOTHER. 415 

and read before you judge of the merits or demerits of 
my arguments. You must not suppose, from my ani- 
madversions, that I cherish an antipathy to the sex. No 
man can be a more sincere admirer of them than myself; 
while virtuous, I admire and venerate them, but when 
vicious I pity them. Gladly would I accompany them 
through all the intricate windings and vicissitudes pecu- 
liar to their moral state. With what ineffable delight 
would I ward off the blows directed by the unwearied 
enemy of man. But this is impossible. All I can give 
is my benediction, flowing from a heart bursting with 
anxiety, and sending up ejaculations to the Eternal for 
their prosperity and preservation. 

The object of your pursuits on commencing action on 
the stage of life will, no* doubt, be happiness. This we 
as naturally pursue, as we do food when hungry, drink 
when dry, rest when fatigued, and consolation when 
transfixed with sorrow. But, alas ! the reason why so 
many millions of Adam's descendants miss the happiness 
they, by native instinct, desire, and, in its place, nurture 
the most formidable evils which produce their present 
infelicity and eternal misery, is, first, they miss the right 
road to happiness; secondly, they want precaution, and 
rush too precipitately into the busy scenes of the fashion- 
able world. To precipitate into the busy scenes of life, 
unthoughtful and regardless of events (which is too often 
the case with young people), is not only irreligious but 
also irrational. The debasing fashions, progressing like 
a gangrene, will extend from one female to another 
through every grade. It is a fearful risk to plunge into 
the stream of popular custom, and float on like a dead 
sponge drinking in its turbid water. Most people arc 
like mocking birds and monkeys, repeating all they hear 



416 WOMAN; AS A WIFE AND MOTHER. 

and mimicking all they see. Our duty is to educate 
ourselves as we should. What virtuous mother does not 
hang her head in solemn sadness at the thought; what 
cheek does not wear the crimson blush at the degeneracy 
of the sex ! In the bosoms that beat with the vital force 
of female virtue a noble disdain should arise at the re- 
membrance of their domestic betrayers. Mothers, this 
is not a time to sit inactive and see the last struggles of 
everything dear to you — the expiring honors of your 
female progeny! You should endeavor, with more than 
maternal solicitude, to snatch from ruin, or preserve 
entire, their sacred virtue. As the mariner, with anxious 
solicitude, throws out any floating pieces of the wreck 
to save his drowning shipmate, who swept away by a 
foaming billow, while the decks are white with foam, 
and the rude winds howl about the masts and sing 
through every shroud, struggles with the angry waves 
and whistling winds, till he is at last saved through the 
assiduity and perseverance of his faithful companion. 
Thus let mothers use every effort to save the honor and 
virtue of their daughters, who are almost enveloped in 
the vortex of popular degradation and infamy. I am 
not speaking of those females who have plunged into 
the dreadful abyss of personal degradation, but rather 
of those who pursue the direct path that leads thereto, 
which is to become the slavish dupes of the obscene, the 
depraved fashions of the day. Let, therefore, such vir- 
tuous mothers, who have a spark of ancient prudence, 
untarnished and unextinguished, shed resplendent light 
on the benighted paths of the juvenile females of the 
rising generation. Sometimes, when I view parading 
the streets ladies of the first respectability, dressed in 
such an obscene manner, as almost enough to make any 



WOMAX; AS A TTIFE AND MOTHER. 417 

one blush, I ask myself, can these ladies be really pru- 
dent who can thus sacrifice every virtuous and modest 
feeling at the shrine of fashion, and excite a blush on 
the cheek even of lewdness? Surely not. "The tree is 
known by its fruit." Actions speak louder than profes- 
sions — a woman may profess to be exemplary and virtu- 
ous ; but, surely, when we see that woman appear in the 
most immodest attire, and display her charms indiscrimi- 
nately in the most obvious manner to the eager and 
amorous inspection of thousands of gazing and criticiz- 
ing libertines, we cannot believe, though we hear it 
vociferated daily, that this woman is a virtuous and re- 
spectable character, and though she displayed elegance 
in her figure, and enchanting beauty in her countenance t 
to surpass the beauteous Helen, every reasonable man 
would admire the smallest share of personal symmetry 
in a prudent female more than all her exposed charms. 

In reference to styles in dress, " the seasons of life 
should be arrayed like those of the year." Then fol- 
lows advice, in which means of adaptation are pointed 
out, both as regards color, fulness, and texture. The 
extreme of corseting is censured in very decided terms, 
as adverse alike to symmetry and health. Remarks 
respecting how far the exposure of the neck and arms 
is allowable, are well concluded in the following strain: 
What is the elegance of your beauty] Modesty ! What 
is its first argument'? Modesty ! What is its second] 
Modesty ! What is its third X Modesty ! What is its 
peroration, the winding up of all its charms, the striking 
spell that binds the heart of man to her forever'? Mo- 
desty ! In the words of Moore : — 

" Let that which charms all other eyes, 

Seem worthless in your own !" 

27 



418 WOMAN; AS A WIFE AND MOTHER. 

Modesty is all in all, for it comprises the mind as well 
as the body ; and happy is he who finds her. 

Woman's soul colors, forms, moulds, modifies, endows 
the soul of humanity. It is so. It must be so. The 
infant mind sleeps in the mother mind, till all its powers 
are set and their tendencies established. The child- 
being is subject to every mood of mind and state of 
body, which exists in the mother-being. Then the early 
twig is nurtured, and the early blossom unfolded on 
woman's bosom. Woman performs the first work of 
culture, imparts the first ideas, awakens the first thoughts, 
aspirations, and emotions, stirs the first tides of feeling, 
and wields the first sceptre in the minds of all men. In 
a secondary sense, she is the maker of all men. This 
being the primary fact of human existence, her education 
is the first work in human progress. To cultivate her, 
is to cultivate the race. To elevate and dignify her, is 
to elevate and dignify the world. As she goes up, she 
bears everything human with her. Depress her, and 
the world sinks. If you would ennoble and dignify the 
world, do this for its women, and the work is done. If 
you would legislate for the world, legislate for woman. 
If you would educate the world, educate woman. If 
you would redeem the world, redeem woman. The 
world lies in her arms. She nurtures it on her bosom, 
she rocks it in her cradle, she breathes into it the breath 
of its mental life. Above her it cannot rise ; she is the 
fountain, and the stream rises not above it. Noble 
women give nobility to the sphere of action, and influence 
in which they move. Genius, worth, mental and moral 
power, owe more to woman than to all things else. If 
I wish to bless the world, I should bless woman. If I 
wished to sweeten a stream, I should mingle the sweet 



WOMAN; AS A WIFE AND MOTHER. 419 

in its fountain. If I wished to make an oak strong, I 
would put water and nourishment at its root. Such 
being the natural position of woman, we hold it as a 
self-evident truth, that she should be educated deeply, 
thoroughly. Woman is the conservation of morality 
and religion. Her moral worth holds man in some re- 
straint, and preserves his ways from becoming inhumanly 
corrupt. Mighty is the power of woman in this respect. 
Every virtue in woman's heart has its influence on the 
world. Some men feel it. A brother, husband, friend, 
or son, is touched by its sunshine. Its mild beneficence 
is not lost. A virtuous woman in the seclusion of her 
home, breathing the sweet influence of virtue into the 
hearts and lives of its beloved ones, is an evangel of 
goodness to the world. She is one of the pillars of the eter- 
nal kingdom of right. She is a star shining in the moral 
firmament. She is a princess administering at the 
fountains of life. Every prayer she breathes is answered 
to a greater or less extent in the hearts and lives of those 
she loves. Her piety is an altar fire where religion ac- 
quires strength to go out on its merciful mission. We 
cannot overestimate the utility and power of woman's 
moral and religious character. The world would go to 
ruin without it. With all our ministers and churches, 
and Bibles and sermons, man would be a prodigal without 
the restraint of woman's virtue, and the consecration of 
her religion. Woman first lays her hand on our young 
powers. She plants the first seeds. She makes the 
first impressions ; and all along through life she scatters 
the good seed of the kingdom, and sprinkles the dews 
of her piety. But woman does not do enough. Her 
power is not yt equal to its need. Her virtue is not 
mighty enough. Her religion conies short in its work. 



420 WOMAN; AS A WIFE AND MOTHER. 

Look out and see the world — a grand Pandora's box of 
wickedness — a great battle-field of clashing passions and 
warring interests — a far-spread scene of sensualism and 
selfishness, in which woman herself acts a conspicuous 
part. Look at society — the rich eating up the poor ; the 
poor stabbing at the rich ; fashion playing in the halls 
of gilded sensualism ; folly dancing to the tune of ignorant 
mirth ; intemperance gloating over its roast beef, or 
whiskey-jug, brandy punch, champagne bottle, bearing 
thousands upon thousands down to the grave of ignominy, 
sensualism, and drunkenness. Is there not a need of 
more vigorous virtue in woman 1 ? Is there not a call for 
more active religion, a more powerful impulse in behalf 
of morality I Who shall hear this cry of wicked, wasting 
humanity, if the young woman does not \ To youthful 
woman we must look for a powerful leader in the cause 
of morality and religion. The girls of to-day are to be 
greatly instrumental in giving a moral complexion to the 
society of to-morrow. It is important that they should 
fix high this standard of virtue. They ought to lay well 
their fountains of religion. They ought early to baptize 
their souls in the consecrated waters of truth and right. 
The first element in their moral character which they 
should seek to establish firmly is purity. A pure heart 
is the fountain of life. " The pure in heart shall see 
God." Not only is purity in life needed to make a 
young woman beautiful and useful, but purity in thought, 
feeling, emotion, and motive. All within us that lies 
open to the gaze of God should be pure. A young 
woman should be in heart what she seems to be in life. 
Her words should correspond with her thoughts. The 
smile of her face should be the smile of her heart. The 
light of her eye should be the light of her soul. She 



WOMAN; AS A WIFE AND MOTHER. 421 

should abhor deception; she should loathe intrigue ; she 
should have a deep disgust of duplicity. Her life should 
be the outspoken language of her mind, the eloquent 
poem of her soul speaking rhythmic beauties, the intrin- 
sic merit of inward purity. Purity antecedes all spiritual 
attainments and progress. It is the first and fundamental 
virtue in a good character ; it is the letter A in the moral 
alphabet ; it is the first step in the spiritual life ; it is the 
Alpha of the eternal estate of soul which has no Omega. 
Whatever may be our mental attainments or social quali- 
ties, we are nothing without purity, only " tinkling cym- 
bals." Our love is stained, our benevolence corrupted, 
our piety a pretence which God will not accept. An 
impure young woman is an awful sight. She outrages 
all just ideas of womankind, all proper conceptions of 
spiritual beauty. To have evil imaginings, corrupt long- 
ings, or deceitful propensities ought to startle any young 
woman. To feel a disposition to sensuality, a craving 
for the glitter of a worldly life, or a selfish ambition for 
unmerited distinction is dangerous in the extreme. It 
is the exuding of impure waters from the heart. Who 
feels such uttcrings within should beware. They are 
the whisperings of an evil spirit, the temptation of sin 
and crime. If I could speak to all the young women in 
the world, I would strive to utter the intrinsic beauties 
and essential qualities of purity ; I would seek to illus- 
trate it as the fountain of all that is great and good, all 
that is spiritually grand and redeeming. There is no 
virtue, no spiritual life, no moral beauty, no glory of soul 
nor dignity of character without purity. 

To be pure is to be truthful, child-hearted, innocent of 
criminal desire or thought, averse to wrong, in love with 
right, in harmony with whatsoever is beautiful, good, 



422 WOMAN; AS A WIFE AND MOTHER. 

and true. This state of the soul is subject to cultivation. 
It may be made strong and active. By personal effort, 
by constant watchfulness and striving, every young 
woman may be pure , but she need not expect to be 
without. She must watch, and strive, and pray if she 
would be pure. If she does not, she will become corrupt 
before she is aware of it. The world will send into her 
heart its putrid streams of influence to corrupt and de- 
base it. 



A Moral. — Because you flourish in worldly affairs 
don't be haughty and put on airs, with insolent pride 
of station — don't be proud and turn up your nose at 
poorer people in plainer clothes ; but learn, for the sake 
of your soul's repose, that wealth's a bubble that comes 
and goes, and that all proud flesh, wherever it grows, 
is subject to irritation. 



Whether a man kills himself with whiskey, or tobacco, 
or food, the crime is the same. A man is equally a sui- 
cide, whether by drinking, smoking, or gluttony. Ex- 
cessive smoking, excessive drinking, excessive eating, 
are the results of an abandonment to an animal appetite, 
to an animal indulgence ; such indulgence is beastly, it 
is ignoble, it is pitiful. 



Make virtue feel that it is encouraged, and vice that 
it is frowned upon. Let justice and truth be exhibited 
in every act of life. 



INFLUENCE OF THE MOTHER. 423 



INFLUENCE OF THE MOTHER. 

In connection with many of the most prominent events 
which have marked the history of our race, we find 
woman acting an honorable and noble part in cheering 
and sustaining, by her patient and enduring love, the 
other sex, in the performance of the many difficult and 
arduous duties which devolve on them, without which, 
they would have sunk in discouragement and despair. 

What an important place does she hold in the re- 
corded annals of past time ! Has she not displayed 
many brave and courageous traits of character in the 
untiring patience with which she has performed for her 
country many noble and heroic deeds, which will be 
remembered until time shall cease 1 Who has kept the 
world from turning back to its former barbarism, kept 
goodness and truth from being swallowed up by love of 
mammon and a disposition for war? What influence 
has tended to raise the human race and inspire each 
heart with patriotic and holy aspirations by the many 
marked displays of fortitude which might be named — 
like that of the Christian mother % 

Let us remember that though the strong and sinewy 
sex achieve enterprises on public theatres of life, it is 
nerve and sensibilities of the other that arms the mind, 
and influences the soul in secret. 

A man discovered America, but a woman equipped 
the voyage. So, everywhere. Man devises, executes, 
and performs, but he needs the aid and encouragement 
of woman to move and inspire him onward to the suc- 
cessful accomplishment of his pursuits. But in no place 



424 INFLUENCE OF THE. MOTHER. 

is this influence felt more than in the domestic circle. 
There woman shows her true character. There we find 
her moulding the positions and destinies of her children, 
endeavoring to improve their tempers and social feelings, 
that they may be fitted to adorn, through her influence, 
the brightest stations in the gift of the people. No 
tribute more beautiful could be paid to the maternal 
relation than the one gathered from the words of the 
Roman mother ; when, as the noble ladies of the court 
were offering their jewels to carry on the operations of 
war, she, having nothing more valuable, brings forward 
and presents her three sons, saying, " These are my 
jewels !" Who can suppose for a moment that this 
noble mother would have presented her children with 
such unshaken confidence, with any other than a feeling 
of pride that they had been carefully and faithfully 
trained under her own watchful eye, and thus made fit 
for the service of the people \ 

As from the chiselled marble we discern the skill of 
the sculptor, so do we find in the conduct of the children 
an index to the character of the parent. This is seen 
in the early impressions which were made upon the 
mind of John Newton. Though he was but seven years 
old when his mother died, yet even at that early age 
having led him into her closet of prayer, and kneeling 
with her hands upon his head, she there commended 
him to God. After her death, those early impressions 
were apparently lost for many years ; for he fell into 
evil company, and particularly the society of plausible 
infidels, through whose influence his early faith was 
shaken. v The elements which tended to his reformation 
in later life, may be traced to a vivid recollection of 
parental example and teaching. 



INFLUENCE OF THE MOTHER. 425 

The heart of Agrippina, the mother of Nero, was set 
upon the vain pomps and vanities of this world. Her 
toilet consumed her morning hours, the vain amusements 
of the court, and the public circle claimed her evenings, 
until there was no heart to seek the quiet chamber, 
where thought and ennobling feelings find a home. 
She sought the elevation of her son to the throne, even 
at the price of blood and crime. To elevate him there, 
she procured the death of Britannicus, who stood in his 
way — and of her own husband. So intent was she upon 
securing to him the crown, that, when she inquired of 
the Chaldean whether he would ever reign at Rome or 
not, and his reply was, " He will reign, but he will kill 
his mother," she exclaimed, " Let him kill me, but let 
him reign !" 

We cannot require of mothers that their children shall 
be Christians, but we do say, that had Agrippina been 
a chaste and worthy example to her son, we may reason- 
ably suppose he would never have pursued the gross and 
unprincipled life he did — a vile persecutor of the people 
of God, and the murderer of his own mother when she 
stood in the way of his ambition. His history is a 
standing beacon to all who have the immortal mind to 
train, to avoid that dangerous rock — neglect. 

Plow unlike this was the example of one of the women 
of Israel, Hannah, the mother of Samuel ! She stands 
before us in all her loveliness and wisdom — her whole 
in i iid and heart engaged in the exercise of piety and 
devotion to her God, and to the service of his 
sanctuary. 

She holds in her possession a cherished earthly 
treasure, and cheerfully consecrates it to him who had 
committed it to her care. The pious wish of the 



426 INFLUENCE OF THE MOTHER. 

mother of Samuel was, that he should serve God. She 
knew nothing higher or better. For that she made the 
self-sacrifice of dedicating him in his tender infancy to 
the Most High. 

" Girded in a linen ephod and the little coat which 
she had made," she leads him into the temple, to wor- 
ship at the altar in the various forms and ceremonies 
which, in those early times, were so strictly observed in 
the Hebrew worship. 

When called by special manifestations to become a 
prophet, and his name twice repeated, as by the whispers 
of unseen angels, calling, " Samuel ! Samuel !" with 
what filial promptness does he respond, as to the call of 
Eli, his honored leader, " Speak, Lord, thy servant 
heareth !" In the history of Hannah we find not only 
a noble and self-sacrificing spirit of devoted piety, in the 
consecration of her cherished child to the perpetual ser- 
vice of the temple, but, in her hymn of thanksgiving, we 
cannot fail to discover a mind deeply imbued with the 
high and lofty sentiments of poetry and song. 

Nero in manhood bears the marks of neglected youth 
— while Samuel shows the opposite of this in his fear of 
God, and ability to meet the responsibilities of a prophet. 
While the former persecuted and wasted the people of 
God, the latter cherished and watched over them with 
a parental love and affection. The one honored not only 
his mother, but the race to which she belonged — while 
the other slew her to whom he owed his being, and was 
a curse to his age and race. We may not charge this 
wholly to a mother's influence, but " as the twig is bent, 
the tree's inclined" — and as the sapling leans, in the 
same direction do we see the inclination of the sturdy 
oak. Show us the man, and we will tell you what kind 



INFLUENCE OF THE MOTHER. 427 

of a mother watched over and guided his tender years — 
for manhood is but the reflection of childhood and youth. 

Byron presents the saddest example of misapplied 
genius. What he might have been, had a wise, and 
good, and gentle mother trained that passionate but 
noble boy, we love sometimes to speculate on. What he 
was, with his unbridled passions, his misanthropy and 
madness, now, with his verse brightening, then burning, 
then blighting, the world but too well knows. 

Yet let us speak with pity, if we may not with praise. 
All things seemed made to move him to bitterness. Let 
us remember his unrestrained childhood, his disappointed 
youth, his personal defect, his unhappy home before and 
after marriage, the contradictions he had to bear, the 
chafes and stings to his proud spirit ; now the idol, then 
the scoff of the people. 

He carried his worn-out body and blasted spirits to 
Greece, hoping there he would rekindle the old fires of 
genius and patriotism : but ere three months rolled 
around, ere he had lived out half his days, in the strange 
but noble soils of Missolonghi, Byron died. And West- 
minster denied him a resting place. 

Edgar Allen Poe — the brightest star in the constel- 
lation of American genius — presents another striking 
illustration. Had he known a pure, peerless, Christian 
mother, filled with all the grace of cultured intellect, 
elevated feelings, and purified affections, he would not 
have set as he did in the murkiest gloom. 

He was before his age, an angel touched with lunacy. 
One who, when he sent forth from the ark of his breast 
the dove, it came not back with the olive branch of 
peace, telling that the storm had ceased ; but in at the 



428 INFLUENCE OF THE MOTHER. 

windows ever looked the black-winged Raven, singing, 
singing — " Nevermore ! Nevermore !" 

The head that teemed with rich and burning thoughts 
was one night pillowed in a kennel of a neighboring 
city; the parting sigh of that heart, once pregnant with 
celestial fire, was breathed out in a public hospital. 

The mortal part of the most wonderful genius our 
country has produced lies unhonored in a Baltimore 
graveyard : he, who would have honored Westminster, 
of Old England, lies sleeping in Westminster, of Balti- 
more. 

His harp is silent ; its strings are broken ; but as long 
as beautiful thoughts find lovers, the sad and radiant 
maiden, whom the angels called " Lenore," will thrill 
the hearts of man. 

Vagrant in life, lonely in death, Poe has had the 
greatest misfortune to have his life traced and his 
writings criticized by one who could not appreciate, and 
did not do him justice. Thus you may see the supe- 
riority of the trainings of a virtuous mother. 



The first necessity of a boil, or sore, or wound, is to 
keep it moist; that keeps down inflammation, pain, mor- 
tification, and death. To do this a plain milk-and-bread 
poultice is the best, being accessible, simple, and safe — 
to say nothing of the advantage it has over many others, 
that it may be so readily re-moistened and thus cleaned 
off. 



Avoid fats and fat meats in summer, and in all warm 
days. 



DUTY OF MOTHERS. 429 



DUTY OF MOTHERS. 

Mothers best discharge their duty to the community, 
by training up those who shall give it strength and 
beauty. Their unwearied labors should coincide with 
the aspirations of the Psalmist, that their " sons may be 
as plants grown up in their youth ; their daughters as 
corner-stones, polished after the similitude of a palace." 
They would not wish to leave to society, where they had 
themselves found protection and solace, a bequest that 
would dishonor their memory. 

Those who are mothers ought to feel peculiar solici- 
tude with regard to the manner in which our daughters 
are reared. Being more constantly with us, and more 
entirely under our control than sons, they will naturally 
be considered as our representatives, the trustee tests of 
our system, the strongest witnesses to a future genera- 
tion of our fidelity or neglect. 

" Unless women," said the venerable Fellenberg, " are 
brought up with industrious and religious habits, it is 
vain that we educate the men; for they are the ones 
who keep the character of men in its proper elevation." 
Our duty to the community, which must be discharged 
by the education of a whole race, comprises many unob- 
trusive, almost invisible points, which in detail may 
seem trivial, or at least desultory, but which are still as 
important as the raindrop to the cistern, or the rill to 
the broad stream. 

A long period allotted to study, a thorough implanta- 
tion of domestic tastes, and a vigilant guardianship over 
simplicity of character, are essential to the daughters of 



430 DUTY OF MOTHERS. 

a republic. That it is wise to give the greatest possible 
extent to the season of tutelage, for those who have 
much to learn, is a self-evident proposition. If they are 
to teach others, it is doubly important. And there is no 
country on earth, where so many females are employed 
in teaching, as in our own. Indeed, from the position 
that educated women here maintain, it might not be 
difficult to establish the point, that they are all teachers, 
all forming other beings upon the model of their own 
example, however unconscious of the fact. To abridge 
the education of the educator, is to stint the culture of 
a plant, whose " leaves are for the healing of the nations." 

I was delighted to hear a young lady say, at the age 
of nineteen, " I cannot bear to think yet of leaving school, 
I have scarcely begun to learn." With what propriety 
might she express this sentiment, though she was 
eminent both in studies and accomplishments — if the 
great Michael Angelo could adopt for his motto, in his 
ninetieth year — "ancora imparo" — " and yet I am 
learning." 

It has unfortunately been too much the custom in our 
country, not only to shorten the period allotted to the 
education of our sex, but to fritter away even that brief 
period, in contradictory pursuits and pleasure. Parents 
have blindly lent their influence to this usage. To reform 
it, they must oppose the tide of fashion and opinion. 
Let them instruct their daughters to resist the principle 
of conforming in any respect to the example of those 
around them, unless it is rational in itself, and correctly 
applicable to them as individuals. A proper expenditure 
for one, would be ruinous extravagance in another. So, 
if some indiscreet mothers permit their young daughters 
to waste in elaborate dress and fashionable parties the 



DUTY OF MOTHERS. 431 

attention which should be devoted to study, need their 
example be quoted as a precedent 1 To do as others do, 
which is the rule of the unthinking, is often to copy bad 
taste and erring judgment. We use more discrimination 
in points of trifling import. We pause and compare 
patterns ere we purchase a garment, which, perchance, 
lasts but a single season. Why should we adopt with 
little inquiry, or on the strength of doubtful precedent, 
a habit, which may stamp the character of our children 
forever % 

When circumstances require, the youngest girl should 
be taught not to fear to differ from her companions, 
either in costume, manners, or opinion. Singularity for 
its own sake, and every approach to eccentricity, should 
be deprecated and discouraged. Even necessary varia- 
tions from those around, must be managed with delicacy, 
so as not to wound feelings, or exasperate prejudice. 
But she who dares not to be independent, when reason 
or duty dictates, will be in danger of forfeiting decision 
of character, perhaps integrity of principle. 

Simple attire, and simple manner, are the natural orna- 
ments of those who are obtaining their school education. 
They have the beauty of fitness, and the policy of leaving 
the mind free for its precious pursuits. Love of display, 
every step toward affectation, are destructive to the charms 
of that sweet season of life. Ceremonious visiting, where 
showy apparel, and late hours prevail, must be avoided. 
I feel painful sympathy for those mothers who expose 
their young daughters to such excitements, yet expect 
them to return, unimpaired and docile, to the restraints 
of school discipline. " Those who forsake useful studies,'' 
said an ancient philosopher, " for useless speculations, 
are like the Olympic gamesters, who abstained from 



432 DUTY OF MOTHERS. 

necessary labors, that they might be fit for such as were 
not so." 

Shall I allude to the want of expediency, in exhibiting 
very young ladies in mixed society \ Their faces become 
familiar to the public eye. The shrinking delicacy of 
their privileged period of life escapes. The dews of the 
morning are too suddenly exhaled. They get to be ac- 
counted old ere they are mature — more is expected of 
them than their unformed characters can yield — and if 
their discretion does not surpass their years, they may 
encounter severe criticism, perhaps calumny. When 
they should be just emerging as a fresh opened blossom, 
they are hackneyed to the common gaze, as the last 
year's Souvenir, which by courtesy or sufferance main- 
tains a place on the centre-table, though its value has de- 
teriorated. Is not the alternative either a premature 
marriage, or an obsolete continuance in the arena of 
fashion, with a somewhat mortifying adherence to the 
fortunes of new candidates, as, grade after grade, they 
assert their claims to fleeting admiration or vapid flat- 
tery 1 

How much more faithfully does the mother perform 
her duty, who brings forth to society no crude or super- 
ficial semblance of goodness, but the well-ripened of 
thorough, prayerful culture. Her daughter, associated 
with herself in domestic cares, at the same time she 
gathered the wealth of intellectual knowledge, is now 
qualified to take an active part in the sphere which she 
embellishes. Adorned with that simplicity which at- 
tracts every eye, when combined with good breeding 
and a right education, she is arrayed in a better panoply 
than the armor of Semiramis, or the wit and beauty of 
Cleopatra, for whom the Roman lost a world. 



DUTY OF MOTHERS. 433 

Simplicity of language, as well as of garb and manner, 
is a powerful ingredient in that art of pleasing which 
the young and lovely of our sex are supposed to study. 
The conversation of children is rich in this charm. 
Books intended for their instruction or amusement should 
consult their idiom. Ought not females to excel in the 
composition of elementary works for the juvenile intel- 
lect, associated as they are with it in its earliest and 
least constrained developments'? The talented and 
learned man is prone to find himself embarrassed by 
such a labor. The more profound his researches in 
science and the knowledge of the world, the further 
must he retrace his steps to reach the level of infantine 
simplicity. Possibly he might ascend among the stars 
and feel at home ; but to search for honey-dew in the 
bells of flowers, and among the moss-cups, needs the 
beak of the humming-bird or the wing of the butterfly. 
He must recall, with a painful effort, the far-off days 
when he " thought as a child, spake as a child, under- 
stood as a child." Fortunate will he be if the "strong 
meats" on which he has so long fed have not wholly 
indisposed him to relish the "milk of babes." If he is 
able to arrest the thoughts and feelings which charmed 
him when life was new, he will still be obliged to trans- 
fuse them into the dialect of childhood. He must write 
in a foreign idiom, where, not to be ungrammatical, is 
praise, and not utterly to fail is victory. Perhaps, in the 
attempt, he may be induced to exclaim, with the con- 
scious majesty of Milton, " my mother bore me a speaker 
of that which God made my own, and not a translator." 

It has been somewhere asserted that he who would 
agreeably instruct children must become the pupil of 
children. They are not, indeed, qualified to act as 
28 



434 DUTY OF MOTHERS. 

guides among the steep cliffs of knowledge which they 
have never traversed ; but they are most skilful conduc- 
tors to the green plats of turf and the wild flowers that 
encircle its base. They best know where the violets and 
kingcups grow, which they have themselves gathered, 
and where the clear brook makes mirthful music in its 
pebbly bed. 

Have you ever listened to a little girl telling a story 
to her younger brother or sister 1 What adaptation of 
subject, circumstances, and epithet] If she repeats 
what she has heard, how naturally does she simplify 
every train of thought. If she enters the region of in- 
vention, how wisely does she keep in view the taste and 
comprehension of her auditor. Ah, how powerful is 
that simplicity which so readily unlocks and rules the 
heart, and which, " seeming to have nothing, possesseth 
all things." 

Those who are conversant with little children are not 
always disposed sufficiently to estimate them, or to allow 
them the high rank which they really hold in the scale of 
being. In regarding the acorn, we forget that it com- 
prises within its tiny round the future oak. It is this 
want of prospective wisdom which occasions ignorant 
persons often to despise childhood, and renders some 
portions of its early training seasons' of bitter bondage. 
" Knowledge is an impression of pleasure," said Lord 
Bacon. They who impart it to the young ought not to 
interfere with its original nature, or divide the toil from 
the reward. Educated females ought especially to keep 
bright the links between knowledge and happiness. 
This is one mode of evincing gratitude to the age in 
which they live, for the generosity with which it has 



DUTY OF MOTHERS. 435 

renounced those prejudices, which, in past times, circum- 
scribed the intellectual culture of their sex. 

May I be excused for repeatedly urging them to con- 
vince the community that it has lost nothing by this 
liberality'? Let not the other sex be authorized in com- 
plaining that the firesides of their fathers were better 
regulated than their own. Give them no chance to 
throw odium upon knowledge from the faults of its allies 
and disciples. Rather let them see that, by a participa- 
tion in the blessings of education, you are made better 
in every domestic department, in every relative duty — 
more ardent in every hallowed effort of benevolence and 
piety. 

I cannot believe that the distaste for household indus- 
try, which some young ladies evince, is the necessary 
effect of a more expanded system of education. Is it 
not rather the abuse of that system \ or may it not radi- 
cally be the fault of the mother, in neglecting to mingle, 
day by day, domestic knowledge with intellectual cul- 
ture \ — in forgetting that the warp needs a woof, ere the 
rich tapestry can be perfect \ I am not prepared to 
assert that our daughters have too much learning, though 
I may be compelled so concede that it is not always well 
balanced or judiciously used. 

Education is not, indeed, confined to any one point of 
our existence, yet it assumes peculiar importance at that 
period when the mind is most ductile to every impres- 
sion. Just at the dawn of that time we see the mother 
watching for the first faint tinge of intellect, " more than 
they who watch for the morning." At her feet a whole 
generation sit as pupils. Let her learn her own value 
as the first educator, that, in proportion to the measure 



436 DUTY OF MOTHERS. 

of her influence she may acquit herself of her immense 
responsibilities. 

Her debt to the community must be paid through her 
children, or through others whom she may rear up, to 
dignify and adorn it. Aristotle said, " the fate of em- 
pires depended on education." But that in woman 
dwelt any particle of that conservative power, escaped 
the scrutinizing eye of the philosopher of Greece. The 
far-sighted statesmen of our times have discovered it. 
A Prussian legislator, at the beginning of the present 
century, promulgated the principle, that " to the safety 
and regeneration of a people, a correct state of religious 
opinion and practice was essential, which could only be 
effected by proper attention to the early nurture of the 
mind." He foresaw the influence which the training of 
infancy would have upon the welfare of a nation. 

Let our country go still further, and recognize in the 
nursery, and at the fireside, that hallowed agency which, 
more than the pomp of armies, shall guard her welfare 
and preserve her liberty. Trying as she is, in her own 
isolated sphere, the mighty experiment, whether a re- 
public can ever be permanent — standing in need, as she 
does, of all the checks which she can command to curb 
faction, cupidity, and reckless competition — rich in re- 
sources, and therefore in danger from her own power — 
in danger from the very excess of her own happiness, 
from that knowledge which is the birthright of her 
people, unless there go forth with it a moral purity, 
guarding the unsheathed weapon — let not this, our dear 
country, slight the humblest instrument that may advance 
her safety, nor forget that the mother, kneeling by the 
cradle bed, hath her hand upon the ark of a nation. 



WOMAN. 



WOMAN. 



437 



How noble, how lofty, and full of most important 
duties, is the sphere of the gentle sex. Is there not 
magic in the eloquent name of sister 1 There is a duty 
to bind more closely around the heart by unceasing love 
and watchfulness, the sweetest of all ties. Unnatural 
must be the heart that can look upon the pure and 
guileless, united by such a tie, treading life's new paths, 
and not feel the deep beauty of this heaven-born blessing. 

How important to cultivate in youth the disposition 
and affections, to watch the first glimmerings of a re- 
pining, an ungentle spirit, to repress an ungracious 
word, and to endeavor to pursue, steadily and without 
reproach, the straight and narrow path leading to happi- 
ness, and to the immortal strains of everlasting joy in the 
choirs of the pure of heaven. 

To woman is entrusted the high privilege of guiding 
the infant spirit from its first wakening. If then the 
gentle affection of a sister has found in her bosom no 
answering sentiment, and the bright period of youth has 
been past idly by, how can the fond hopes of a father be 
realized, who would see the unshackled mind of the 
innocent committed to his charge, beaming with the 
reflection of all that is noble and beautiful. 

The young spirit draws from the eye, guiding its 
dawning powers, the coloring of its future destiny. 
Upon a mother's breast, from the fount of her tenderness, 
its first thought of beauty springs. If sorrow cloud the 
brow of the mother, the tiny lip is convulsed, and the 
grieved spirit appears to participate in the unknown 



438 WOMAN. 

cause, which shuts from its gaze the light of its parent's 
smile. If such be the case, how ought that mind to be 
disciplined, having an immortal spirit to lead aright 
through the uncertain paths of the world's allurements 
and deceits 1 

Upon woman depends the destiny of the nation ! for 
she is rearing up senators and statesmen. Let her then 
strive for the meed of virtuous praise. Truly a woman 
in her purity is a " pearl of price," but in her degrada- 
tion, to be shunned as to avoid infection. 

Let then the preparation for the high duties of woman 
in youth, be guided by Christian hope and lofty aspira- 
tions. Let each moment of the precious period be 
devoted to acts of virtuous emulation, and let those 
" rose-buds in the wreath of our country's hope" be 
distinguished above all other nations for virtue and 
modesty, for cultivated minds and gentle manners. 



What a grand thing it is to have an unwavering faith 
in every word, and syllable, and letter of the sacred Scrip- 
tures ! to feel that they are nothing less than utterances 
of the great Father of us all, to comfort, and guide, and 
cheer, and sustain in all life's pilgrimage ! 



Look at the sunny-side of every event — for every bad 
there might be a worse. When a person breaks his leg, 
he should be very thankful it was not his neck. 



He who gives a pang, shall himself ten pangs receive. 



TO A MOTHER. 439 



TO A MOTHER. 



You have a child on your knee. Listen a moment. 
Do you know what that child is 1 It is an immortal 
being ; destined to live forever ! It is destined to be 
happy or miserable ! You — the mother ! You, who 
gave it birth, the mother of its body, are also the mother 
of its soul, for good or ill. Its character is yet unde- 
cided ; its destiny is placed in your hands. What shall 
it be 1 That child may be a liar. You can prevent it. 
It may be a drunkard. You can prevent it. It may be 
a thief. You can prevent it. It may be a murderer. 
You can prevent it. It may be an atheist. You can 
prevent it. It may live a life of misery to itself, and 
mischief to others. You can prevent it. It may de- 
scend into the grave with an evil memory behind and 
dread before. You can prevent it. Yes, you, the 
mother, can prevent all these things. Will you, or will 
ycu not % Look at the innocent ! Tell me again, will 
you save it ? Will you watch over it, will you teach it, 
warn it, discipline it, subdue it, pray for it % Or will 
you in the vain search of pleasure, or in gayety, or 
fashion, or folly, or in the chase of some other bauble, 
or even in household cares, neglect the soul of your 
child, and leave the little immortal to take wing alone, 
exposed to evil, to temptation, to ruin \ Look again at 
the infant ! Place your hand on its little heart ! Shall 
that heart be deserted by its mother, to beat perchance 
in sorrow, disappointment, wretchedness, and despair] 
Place your car on its side and hoar that heart beat! 
How rapid and vigorous the strokes ! How the blood 



440 TO A MOTHER. 

is thrown through the little veins ! Think of it ; that 
heart, in its vigor now, is the emblem of a spirit that will 
work with ceaseless pulsation for sorrow or joy forever. 

SCOLDING. 

There are some practices of parents which cannot be 
too severely condemned. One is a constant fretting at, 
and scolding of, children ; a mistake often made by 
mothers, who can offer the excuse that they have so 
much to do as to render it impossible that anything 
should be well done. By this practice, the force of 
government is weakened, and the authority of the parent 
worn out. I never knew one who was perpetually cor- 
recting a child, that did not either establish him in 
habits of contempt of parental government or stultify 
his intellect. It is proper to remark here, too, that in 
no duty of life is example more important than in gov- 
ernment. Let children see that the father and mother 
indulge angry looks or harsh words towards each other, 
and they get a bad lesson, which may never leave them. 
On the contrary, if they see those whom they most 
reverence and most love, habitually kind, gracious, and 
patient in their intercourse with one another, they will 
carry images in their hearts which will ever incline them 
to love and gentleness. 



CORRECTING CHILDREN IN ANGER. 

There is another common error which may need to be 
noticed, that of correcting a child hastily and harshly, 
and then, feeling that injustice has been done, to com- 
pensate him by some soothing sugar-plum or honeyed 



TO A MOTHER. 4-tl 

apology. It is not easy to conceive of anything more 
likely to degrade the parent in the eyes of its offspring 
than such inconsiderate folly — nothing more sure to 
destroy his influence over the mind, to harden the young 
heart in rebellion, and make it grow bold in sin. In 
proportion as the parent sinks in his esteem, self-conceit 
grows up in the mind of the undutiful child. Young 
people, as well as old, pay great respect to consistency, 
and, on the contrary, despise those whose conduct is 
marked with caprice. The sacred relation of parent is 
no protection against this contempt. Those, therefore, 
who would preserve their influence over their children, 
who would keep hold of the reins that may guide them 
in periods of danger, and save them from probable ruin, 
must take care not to exhibit themselves as governed by 
passion or whim, rather than fixed principles of justice 
and duty. 

PARENTAL PARTIALITY. 

There is another fatal danger in family government, 
from which I would warn every parent, and that is par- 
tiality. It is too often the case that fathers and mothers 
have their favorite child. From this two evils result. 
In the first place, the pet usually becomes a spoiled child ; 
and the " flower of the family" seldom yields any other 
than bitter fruit. In the second place, the neglected 
part of the household feels envy towards the parent that 
makes the odious distinction. Disunion is thus sown in 
what ought to be the Eden of life, a sense of wrong is 
planted by the parent's hand in the hearts of a part of 
his family, an example of injustice is written on the soul 
of the offspring by him who should instil into it, by every 



412 TO A MOTHER. 

word and deed, the holy principles of equity. This is a 
subject of great importance, and I commend it to the 
particular notice of all parents. 

I have seen a mother, who had two daughters, select 
one, for no apparent cause, as the object of particular 
affection. The daughters grew up and had families. 
For a long time they continued to entertain undisturbed 
affection for each other. But the mother's preference 
of one, and of all that belonged to her, though attempted 
to be concealed, could not be disguised. This gradually 
introduced a feeling of jealousy between the sisters. In- 
sensibly they became estranged ; the two families also 
began to indulge a spirit of rivalry. They became watch- 
ful of each other's words, dress, and demeanor. They 
grew mutually captious and at last censorious. The re- 
sult was, that while the two families maintained an 
ostensible friendship, there was underneath this disguise 
a real hatred of each other. Thus a mother's selfish and 
unreasonable indulgence of a whim sowed discord among 
her children, and entailed misery upon her descendants. 
Nor is this a solitary instance. Parents seem peculiarly 
exposed to this error in. the administration of family 
government. Let them be on their guard. Let them 
treat their several children, with an even hand, and, if they 
wish peace in their family, discourage uncles and aunts, 
grandmothers and grandfathers, from selecting one of 
their children as a special favorite. Such things seldom* 
come to good. If the pet gets at length some niggard 
legacy as a token of regard, it is usually bought too dear, 
even if it do not bring a curse on the recipient. If, in- 
deed, it should seem a benefit to him on whom it is be- 
stowed, the jealous envy excited in the other members 
of the family, and the consequent alienation of good-will, 



TO A MOTHER. 443 

are poorly compensated by it. Such partialities on the 
part of rich relations are often wholly selfish, and should 
be rather shunned than coveted by parents. Their chil- 
dren can do without legacies, but they cannot afford to 
be subject to the disturbing influence of partiality. 

CORPORAL PUNISHMENT. 

As connected with this question of motives, there have 
been also much doubt and discussion in regard to punish- 
ments. Corporal punishments have been altogether dis- 
carded, by many, as degrading to human nature and in- 
jurious to the subjects of such discipline. But I am dis- 
posed to think that he who recommends to parents not to 
spare the rod, understood this subject better than those 
modern reformers. It may be that Vicessimus Knox, 
the prince of pedagogues, who laid an average of fifty 
lashes a day upon the backs of his scholars for some 
forty years, and Dr. Samuel Johnson, who was a great 
friend of flogging, and some others, have quoted Solomon 
in behalf of a severe system of discipline. If so, it is not 
the first time that Holy Writ has been wrested from its 
true meaning, and made the instrument by which men 
have vindicated their own misdoings. But the truth 
here, as in many other cases, lies between the extremes. 
Corporal punishment is seldom necessary ; but almost 
every parent who has dealt faithfully with his children 
has found some occasion when the injunction, " spare 
not the rod," came with the emphasis of inspiration to 
his breast. It may be that the actual necessity for this 
form of punishment never occurs in respect to some 
children ; but almost every child, before he is thoroughly 
trained in obedience, has at least one sharp struggle with 



444 TO A MOTHER. 

his parent, in which some decisive and humiliating mark 
of disapprobation is demanded. 

It should not, however, be overlooked that the neces- 
sity of punishment depends very much upon the manner 
in which children are treated. The greatest floggers 
have usually the most disobedient children. I once 
knew a busy, scouring farmer's wife, with a large family, 
the eldest fifteen years old, the youngest three. She 
seldom crossed the room without making some one of 
them stagger with a vixenish slap on the side of the 
head. Yet they were, without exception, the most noisy, 
mischievous, rebellious reprobates that I ever saw. The 
discipline of this mother was obviously not corrective, 
but nutritive of the vicious habits of children. The 
more she flogged the more their disobedience flourished. 
Her ill-judged castigation operated like a partial hoeing 
among weeds, which only makes them grow the faster. 
I have seen, on the other hand, a teacher of a seminary, 
consisting of eighty boys, succeed in governing the 
whole school, while the heaviest punishment ever in- 
flicted was that of making a boy lie in bed for a whole 
day. This teacher had a peculiar tact for his profession; 
but a large part of his skill lay in imperturbable cheerful- 
ness of manner, and an equanimity of temper which 
never deserted him. These prevented his being thrown 
off his guard, secured him the good-will and confidence 
of his pupils, and inclined them at the outset to comply 
with his requisitions. 

HOME EDUCATION. 

There are two mistakes current in society, both of 
which have been incidentally touched upon, but which 



TO A MOTHER. 445 

deserve to be placed more directly before the reader. 
The first is, that the whole duty of a parent, so far as re- 
spects education, is discharged by sending children regu- 
larly to school; the second, that, although parents must 
attend to the physical and moral culture of their offspring, 
their minds, at least, may be left wholly to the school- 
master. The reader may feel that the former of these 
propositions has been sufficiently noticed, and I there- 
fore remark only that school instruction never can 
supersede the necessity of vigilant parental teaching 
and training at the fireside. If a comparison were to 
be made between the two, I should not hesitate to at- 
tribute greater importance to home education than to 
school education : for it is beneath the parental roof, 
when the heart is young and melted by the warmth of 
fireside affection, that the deepest impressions are made; 
it is at home, beneath parental influence and example, 
that the foundations of physical, moral, and mental 
habits are laid ; it is at home where abiding tastes are 
engendered; it is at home where lasting opinipns are 
formed. 

The other error, that the minds of children may be 
wholly left to school instructors, has also been noticed ; 
but it is worthy of more special comment. It may be 
true that some children, without counsel or guidance, 
may have that docility of temper and expertness of intel- 
lect which will lead them to take ready advantage of 
the means of instruction afforded at the schools. But 
these cases are very rare ; and in all instances, children 
will study with livelier relish if they see that their 
parents are interested in their progress. If parents look 
over their lessons with them, and approve or condemn 
as they are attentive or negligent, they will be quickened 



446 TO A MOTHER. 

by a sense of responsibility. If parents aid them in the 
mastery of difficulties, and teach them to think and 
reflect upon their studies, they will not only be cheered 
by the assistance, but will find, in the exercise thus 
given to their minds, that delight, which the young bird 
feels as he first tries his wings and discovers the joyous 
power they bestow. An experienced and sagacious 
teacher told me that he had one child in his school whose 
parents treated him in this way, and that, although he 
had moderate abilities, he was one of the best and most 
successful of his pupils. Is it not a mistake of parents, 
then, to give all their thoughts and devote all their time 
to mere worldly cares, and leave the minds of their 
children to accident % For what employment more 
delightful than to train the youthful intellect % what 
occupation so full of pleasure as to lead one's own child 
forth in the paths of knowledge, and, like Adam, when 
the world was new, give names and characters to all 
around'? what pursuit so profitable to the child itself, 
for whose benefit we are willing to toil, as to teach him 
the danger of the way, aid him in surmounting diffi- 
culties, and at last unfold to him the world of truth 
which lies outspread to the view of the beholder \ 

Say, ye parents, if ye would make an investment for 
your children, is it better to make it in cash or in 
wisdom % Is it better to lay up treasure in the bank, 
where the moth and rust may corrupt, and where thieves 
may break through and steal, or in the mind, whose 
stores are imperishable? 



Parents, have a ceaseless eye to what your younger 
children read. 



DEATH AND THE CAPTIVE. 



44' 




DEATH AND THE CAPTIVE. 



Liberty ! Liberty ! thou hast heard 

My weary prayer at length, 
But the plumeless wing of the captive bird 

Is shorn of its buoyant strength ; 
I am too weary now to roam 

Through sunlight and the air, 
To bear me to my mountain home, 

Or joy if I were there. 

Liberty ! Liberty ! thou hast been 

The prayer of my burning heart, 
Till the silent thoughts that were within 

Into life and form would start ; 
And, oh ! the glorious dreams that roll'd, 

Like scenes of things that be 
And voices of the night that told — 

" The captive and the earth arc free !" 

Liberty ! Liberty ! I have prayed 

To sec thy form again, 
And borne, with spirit undecayed, 

The dungeon and the chain ; 



448 DEATH AND THE CAPTIVE. 

But darkling art thou come to me 

In silence and in dread, 
And round thee many a form I see 

Of thine own tombless dead. 

Oh ! altered is that glorious mien, 

That burning brow of pride, 
That shone before me in the scene 

Where patriot thousands died; 
Oh ! changed since when I bore the brand 

In glory and in youth, 
And saw my leagued brothers stand 

For Freedom and the truth. 

Long years of woe have chill'd my breast, 

And faint my spirit grows, — 
Here now my drooping head might rest, 

And here could find repose ; 
But darkly as thy shadow gleams 

Before my weary gaze, 
Thou hast brought back the blessed dreams 

Of youth's unclouded days. 

Oh ! lead me forth where'er thy reign, 

Where'er thy dwelling be ; 
I would bear all I've borne again, 

To feel one moment free ; 
To feel my soul no longer press'd 

By this dim night of woe, — 
To know, where'er this heart may rest, 

The living light shall flow. 



DEATH AND THE CAPTIVE. 449 

Frown not ! I once could brave for thee 

The dagger at my side, — 
And I have borne the misery 

That few could bear beside. 
There were who loved me — where are they \ 

Friends, country, home, and name, — 
They have passed like a dream away, 

But left my heart the same. 

I've bartered all to see thee smile 

Upon my native shore ; 
Nor change I, though my rest the while 

Be on a dungeon-floor. 
The love of woman, or man's praise, 

I sigh not now for them, — 
It is enough that distant days 

Shall wear the diadem. 

Yet leave me not again to lie 

Through untold years of gloom, 
I would once more behold the sky 

And earth's unwasted bloom ; 
Nor yet hath hung the chilly air 

So murky in my cell, — 
The heavy darkness seems to glare, 

The dreary night-gales swell. 

And art thou she — the holy one ! 

Whose banner o'er the world, 
Before their destined race was run, 

Chiefs, prophets, saints, unfurled ; 

29 



450 DEATH AND THE CAPTIVE. 

Art thou the starry form that bowed 

Beside the patriot's shield, 
When, with clos'd lips and bosom proud, 

They bore him from the field 1 

Thou art not she, — I know thee now ! 

The glorious dream is past, — 
There is a fever on my brow, 

And life is ebbing fast. 
Unmoved I bow me to thy power, 

Stern friend of human kind ! 
Thou canst not make the spirit cower, 

A dungeon could not bind. 

THE CAPTIVE. 

To me, at once, without conditions yield, 

For I have ransom'd thee with my own blood 

From that dark dungeon where thou ly'st confin'd 

And built thee an abode beyond the stars, 

Where uncreated light forever shines, 

And night approaches not eternal day : — 

Thy name is deep engraven on my hands, 

And deeper still recorded in my heart. 

And, by my own Almighty Self I swear, 

Though earth and hell against thee should unite, 

I'll never leave thee nor forsake thee once, 

Till all those walls and bulwarks, built of sin, 

With which thou art so strong encompass'd round. 

Are levell'd with the dust beneath thy feet, 

And not one stone upon another stands 

Thy passage to my glory to impede ; 

Till I have purg'd thee from the deepest stains, 



DEATH AND THE CAPTIVE, 451 

With which thy heart by sin is blotted through, 
And all thy thoughts denied ; till thy mind 
Xow thick envelop'd round with ignorance, 
One blaze of pure intelligence becomes ; 
Till thou, discerning, by the light I give, 
The excellency of my matchless grace. 

THE CAPTIVE'S RELEASE. 

Who treads my dungeon, wild and pale 1 
Or do my weary eyeballs fail I 
And art thou of the shapes that swim 
Across my midnight, sad and dim, 
Where in one deep confusion blend 
The forms of enemy and friend, 
Shut out by mountain and by wave, 
Or slumbering in the ancient grave \ 

Ha ! fearful Thing ? — I know thee now, 

Thy hollow eye, thy bony brow, — 

I feel thy chill, sepulchral breath ; 

Spare me, — dark King ! pale Terror ! Death ! 

Still let me on this bed of stone, 

Pour to the night the captive's groan ; 

Still wither in the captive's chain, — 

Still struggle, hope, in vain — in vain; 

Still live the slave of others' will, — 

But let me live, grim Spectre, still ! 

I faint ; thy touch is on me now — 

I feel no sting, no fiery throe : 

M\ fetters fill beneath thy hand! 

I see thee now before me stand, 



452 DEATH AND THE CAPTIVE. 

No shape of fear ! My fading eyes 
Behold thee, Servant of the Skies ! 
Crowns thy bright brow the immortal wreath 
Celestial odors round thee breathe, 
Spreads on the air thy splendid plume, — 
Welcome, thou Angel of the Tomb ! 



We earnestly advise young men to let the character of 
the mother have a large influence in determining their 
choice of a wife — a choice which makes or mars the lot 
of life, and often moulds the destiny beyond. 



Many a person has dropped dead at the pump, or at 
the spring; such a result is more certain, if, in addition 
to the person being very warm at the time of drinking, 
there is also great bodily fatigue. 



A single teaspoonful of vinegar in each glass of water 
will effectually prevent any ill-effects from using the 
water of limestone localities by those accustomed to other 
kinds of drinking-water. 



Getting out of a warm bed, and going to an open door 
or window, has been the death of multitudes. 



All locomotion should be avoided when the bowels are 
thin, watery, or weakened. 



THE LOST TREASURE. 



453 




THE LOST TREASURE. 



Idol of all, the world's imperial lord, 

Thou peerless bullion dug from sleeping earth, 

As sways the despot o'er his fetter'd horde, 

So thousands bow the minions of thy worth : — 

To groans and midnight tears thou givest birth, 
Enchanting master of the frown and smile ; 

Alike creator of our woes and mirth, 

The nurse of cloudy hate, and venomed guile, 
Diffusing mantling grandeur on the tumid vile ! 

Thou yellow slave of Eastern rifled mine, 

There gleams from thee a long unweakened charm 

A fatal essence is forever thine 

That time's corroding changes cannot harm; 

The same magnetic spell in every form — 
A dumb memorial of the ages fled, 

When love for thee woke up the civic storm ; — 
For thee, the pulsing breast was gored and red, 
And savage warriors trampled on the piling dead: 

There is a moral on thy graven face, 

When, damp before us, from thy burial-ground, 



454 THE LOST TREASURE. 

With eager ken, we scan the fading trace 
Of some triumphant record, crusted round ; 

Or regal brow, with braided garland bound. 
Where now is he, the image of thy rust"? 

The tyrant, perhaps, that made the war-whoop sound, 
And vanquished cities rear his sculptured bust — 
Like thee, disfigured remnant of his wormy dust ! 



In burning zones, and far exotic clime, 

Where gorgeous nature daunts the lifted eye, — 

The daring Briton wastes his lusty prime. 
Apart from native hills, and genial sky : 

The dripping tears of love — th' unbosomed sigh, 
The farewell pang prophetic — all forgot ! 

When, flushed, his pluming spirit longs to fly 
From thrifty ease and patrimonial spot — 
And slow return with wealth and fevered veins his lot ! 

With sinking cheek, pale lip, and pensive glance, 

And locks that pine upon their heated brow, 
Alone, with pauseful step, and mute advance, 

Behold a martyred genius passing now ! 
His eyes still flashed, — but mournful shadows throw 

Betraying sadness round his inward gloom : 
The soul is lit, inspired, — but poor, and low, 

No gold creative to resist his doom, 

Like sunshine's fading light, he weakens to the tomb. 

On clotted turf, within a murky vale, 

The blood-red dagger in his quaking hand, 

His guilty visage hued by moonlight pale, — 
The murderer bodes — as if Remorse's wand 



THE LOST TREASURE. 455 

Had fixed him there. Upon the still brigand 
The victim opes his eyes — which then reelose, 

While from his wounds the bubbling streams expand : 
For gold, thus, oft the wasted life-spring flows — 
For thee, vile ore, how many woo the grave's repose ! 

A long farewell endears the faithful soul, 

And warmer kindness will spring up from woe, — 

But spelling gold perverts the heart's control, 
And finds a parent for the infant's foe ! 

Malignant guile, the darksome traitor's blow, 

The death-bed curse, and lip of venomed scorn, — 

The sternest pangs enduring hearts can know, 
Are but the deeds of gold : — and years unborn, 
Shall bring thine endless victims, that for thee shall 
mourn. 

But see ! thy abject slave : — a lurking fear, 
Spreads o'er his face a dark prevailing shade ; 

Wakeful, though scowled his gaze : — that icy sneer, 
Before whose chill a baby smile would fade, — 

Is th' intense pride of treasure unbetrayed : 
Few are his words — in them the wily tone 

Conveys reservcful dread ; as if it bade 

The miser fear himself — for wealth once known, 
'T would seem departed though it still remained his 
own! 

A miser's heart is like the damp cold tomb, 
Embalming but the noisome ; — dark abode 

Of blighted feeling and of selfish gloom : 
And yet 'tis not repose ; a burdening load 

Of teasing dreams, at home, and on the road, 
From risen morn till eve — prevent his rest : 

( )ih haunting thought, the self-inflicted goad, 



456 THE LOST TREASURE. 

Is ever at his soul. With heavy breast 

And pulsing terror, is his canvas pillow pressed ! 

This beauteous world, and its enchanting scene, 
The silken clouds of morn, and moony night, 

The tinted fruits, and meadow's matchless green, — 
Its flowers and streams — for him yield no delight ! 

The sunbeams warm his brow, and bless his sight, 
The breezes kiss his lips — but he's the same : — 

As if his mind was darkened o'er with blight, 
And Nature quite unfelt — a gloomy frame 
Where all, but avarice, is motionless and tame. 

And has he bliss ? — 'tis buried in the ground ! 

No kindly ease is bought above : vile, mean, 
Blank to the eye, and deaf to sorrow's sound, 

With unpartaking modes and bilious spleen, 
He crawls his way — unsought and seldom seen : — 

Strange homage this, that Fancy gets 
For her delusions ! E'er since time hath been, 

Hearts weave their own deceits: — the miser frets, 

But bears the willing thraldom while his soul regrets ! 

With lowering front, and dim withdrawing eye, 
Suspiciously he creeps : — his morbid glance 

Turned round on heaven and earth most fretfully ; — 
Disturbing fears, as near his steps advance 

To see the buried gold — and hopeful trance, — 

Attend him with their phantoms. Each limb shakes, 

And tremulous, the chills of dubious chance 
Thrill through her person: — till again he takes 
Another glutting stare, — oh ! how his bosom aches ! 



THE LOST TREASURE. 457 

The spot is gained : — beneath a tree decayed 
His treasure's hid. Upon its topmost bough 

A raven sits — foreboding hope betrayed. 

Here, on the ground, the miser kneeling now, 

Digs up the turf: — but list ! the shrieking vow 
And arms infuriate raised — the torture trace 

Proclaim the heap is gone ! — no tears can flow, 
But inward anguish maddens in grimace, 
While Death, with mocking purse, grins in his mar- 
tyr's face. 



Let it be remembered that it is not the medicine ad- 
vised by the educated physician which has done the 
world so much injury, but it is the physic which people 
swallow on their own responsibility. When a narrow- 
minded person gets sick, he " calculates the saving it 
will be to him to give twenty-five cents for a box of 
pills instead of employing a physician," besides avoid- 
ing the discomfort of " a course of medicine," as it is 
called. This answers for a while in many cases, but it 
is ultimately disastrous, and health and life are the fear- 
ful forfeit. 



More persons are destroyed by eating too much than 
by drinking too much. Gluttony kills more than drunken- 
ness in civilized society. 



Neither the cold nor the fervid, but characters uni- 
formly warm, are formed for friendship. 



458 



THE EMPIRIC. 




THE EMPIRIC. 

Quacks ! high and low — whate'er your occupation — 
I hate ye all ! but, ye remorseless crew, 

Who, with your nostrums, thin the population, 
A more especial hate I bear towards you — 

You who're regardless if you kill or cure, — 

Who lives or dies — so that of fees you're sure !' 

" What," saith the moralist, " are there any found 
So base, so wondrous pitiful 1 ?" — "Aye, many: — 

In this metropolis vile quacks abound, 

Who'd poison you outright to get a penny ; — 

Monsters ! who'd recklessly deal death around, 

'Till the whole globe were one vast burial ground." 



" Rail on ! abuse us, sir !" cries Doctor Pill, 

" While you're in health it all sounds mighty clever 

But if, perchance, again you're taken ill, 
I shall be sent for just the same as ever; 

When groaning with the gout, or teased with phthisic, 

You'll gladly call me in, and take my physic !" 



THE EMPIRIC. 459 

Save me, kind friends, from Doctor Pill, I pray! 

And try to find an honest one and skilful — 
Like Doctor Condurango or Surgeon Wray, 

Whom none can charge with blunders, weak or wilful ; 
But let no quack approach my humble bed, 
To feel my pulse, and shake his empty head ! 

Rather would I " throw physic to the dogs;" 

For, oh ! through quacks, what ills from physic flow ! 

It saps our vitals — all our functions clogs — 
And makes our lives a scene of pain and woe : 

Alas ! what tortures patients undergo,. 

None but the suffring quack-duped patients know ! 

And if, by chance, you 'scape their murderous fangs, 
Gods ! what a fuss they make about your cure ! 

But if, worn out with agonizing pangs, 

You die — why, then, the malady was sure 

To kill ! — in truth, 'twas wonderful, they'll say, 

That Death so long could have been kept away ! 

See yon poor wretch ! mere effigy of man ! 

He'd faith ! — and all their "grand specifics" tried; 
For while he trusted to the charlatan, 

He little thought grim Death was by his side : 
And yet to him the Tyrant prov'd a friend, 
By bringing all his torments to an end. 

Oh, bounteous Nature ! friend of human kind ! 

Who every heartfelt joy of life dispenses, 
To their best interests were not mortals blind, 

Or would but rightly use their boasted senses, 
They'd gratefully obey thy wise commands, 
Nor trust their lives in sordid emp'rics' hands. 



460 



UNWELCOME OFFICIOUSNESS. 





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UNWELCOME OFFICIOUSNESS. 

DEATH NURSING THE INFANT IN THE ABSENCE OF THE 
MOTHER, WHO HAS GONE TO A BALL. 



TO THE MOTHER. 

Nay ! youthful mother, do not fly, 

Though pleasure lure, and flatt'ry court thee, 
Soothe thy sick infant's moaning cry, 

And wake the smile that must transport thee. 

Life has no charm so deep, so dear, 
As that soft tie thou blindly leavest — 

No love so constant and sincere 

As that which fills the heart thou grievest. 

In all the bloom of beauty's pride, 
In all ambition's vainest splendor, 

Ne'er was thy woman's heart supplied 
With bliss so pure, with joy so tender. 

Canst thou forsake that joy so soon'? 

Canst thou forget the lips that bless'd thee, 






UNWELCOME OFFICIOUSNESS. 461 

When, bending o'er this precious boon, 
The Father wept whilst he caress'd thee I 

Is it for gauds of dress and dance, 
Thou canst renounce a claim so holy, 

To win the warm, insulting glance, 
And woo the praise of idle folly 1 

Then go ! — a fair, but fragile flower, 
A dazzling, heartless, careless beauty, 

To risk thy fame — to lose thy power — 
That power which dwells alone with duty. 

Go ! — and thy bosom's lord offend, 

Consign thy sufT'ring babe to sorrow — 

Death, the kind nurse, its woes will end — 
Thy boy shall grace his arms to-morrow. 

THE BALL. 

" Even if I were not prevented by this unlooked-for 
engagement from accompanying you to the ball to-night, 
my love," said the Honorable Alfred Seymour to his 
beautiful young wife, " you must nevertheless have de- 
clined it, for the child is evidently unwell ; look how the 
pulses throb in its little throat, Sophia ! " 

" So they always do, I believe. I really wish you 
were less of a croaker and Caudle-maker, my dear; how- 
ever, to make you easy, I will send for Dr. Davis imme- 
diately : as to the ball, as I am expected, and have gone 
to the trouble and expense of a new dress, and have not 
been out for such a long, long time, really I think I 
ought to go." 



462 UNWELCOME OFFICIOUSNESS. 

"You would not leave my boy, Lady Sophia, if" — 

" Not if there is the least danger, certainly ; nor if the 
doctor should pronounce it ill; but I do not believe it is so 
— I see nothing particular about the child, for my part." 

As the young mother said this, she cast her eyes on 
the child, and saw in its little heavy eyes something 
which she felt assured was particular — she saw, more- 
over, more strikingly than ever, the likeness it bore to a 
justly beloved husband, and in a tone of self-correction 
added, " Poor little fellow, I do think you are not quite 
the tiling, and should it prove so, mamma will not leave 
you for the world." 

The countenance of the father brightened, and he 
departed assured that the claims of nature would soon 
fully triumph over any little lingering love of dissipation 
struggling for accustomed indulgence ; and as he bade 
her good-by, he did not wonder that a star so brilliant 
desired to exhibit its rays in the hemisphere alluded to, 
which was one in the highest circle of fashion. Never- 
theless, as he could not be present himself, he thought 
it on the whole better that she should be absent. A 
young nobleman, who had been his rival, and wore the 
willow some time after their marriage, had lately paid 
marked attention to a young beauty every way likely to 
console him ; and Mr. Seymour thought it would be a 
great pity if his lady, whom he had not seen for some 
months, should, by appearing before him in the full blaze 
of beauty (unaccompanied by that person whose appear- 
ance would instantly recall the sense of her engagement), 
indispose his heart for that happy connection to which 
he had shown this predilection. 



UNWELCOME OFFICIOUSNESS. 463 

Unfortunately, the fond husband gave indication of 
his admiration alike in looks and words ; and as the fair 
young mother turned from him to her mirror, she felt 
for a moment displeased that her liege lord should be 
less solicitous than herself to " witch the world" with 
her beauty ; and whilst in this humor she called her maid 
to show her the turban and dress " in which she intended 
to appear." 

" Lauk, my lady ! why sure you intends it yet — did 
ever any body hear of such a thing as going for to stay 
at home when you are all prepared ? Why, you've been 
out of sight ever so long because you was not fit to be 
seen, as one may say ; but now that you are more beauti- 
fnller than ever, by the same rule you should go ten 
times as much — do pray, my lady, begin directly — ah ! 
I knows what I know. Miss Somerville may look twice 
ere she catches my lord, if so be he sees you in this here 
plume ; cold broth is soon warm, they say." 

Could it be that this vulgar nonsense — the senseless 
tirade of low flattery and thoughtless stimulation to 
error — could affect the mind of the high-born and highly 
educated Lady Sophia"? Alas! yes — a slight spark will 
ignite dormant vanity, and the love of momentary triumph 
surpass the more generous wish of giving happiness to 
others in a sphere distinct from our own. 

The new dress was tried on ; its effects extolled by 
the maid, and admitted by the lady, who remembered 
to have read or heard of some beauty whose charms 
were always most striking when she first appeared after 
a temporary confinement. The carriage was announced, 



464: UNWELCOME OFFICIOUSNESS. 

and she was actually descending when the low wail of 
the baby broke on her ear, and she recollected that in 
the confusion of her mind during the time devoted to 
dress and anticipated triumph, she had forgotten to send 
for the medical friend of the family. 

Angry with herself, in the first moment of repentance, 
she determined to remain at home, but unfortunately 
reconsidered, and went before the arrival of the doctor; 
'tis true she left messages and various orders, and so far 
fulfilled a mother's duties, but she yet closed her eyes 
to the evident weakness of her boy, and contented her- 
self with determining to return as soon as it was possible. 

But who could return while they found themselves 
the admired of all, and when at least the adoration of 
eyes saluted her from him whom she well knew it was 
cruelty or sin to attract. The observation forced upon 
her of Miss Somerville's melancholy looks told her this, 
and compelled her to recollect that she was without her 
husband, and therefore critically situated; and as "in 
the midst of life we are in death," so she proved that in 
the midst of triumph we may be humbled — in the midst 
of pleasure be pained ; and she resolved to fly from the 
scene of gayety more quickly than she had come. 

But numerous delays arose, each of which harassed 
her spirits not less than they retarded her movements, 
and she became at length so annoyed, as to lose all her 
bloom, and hear herself as much condoled with on her 
looks as she had a few hours before been congratulated ; 
she felt ill, and was aware that she merited to be ill, and 
had a right to expect reproaches from her husband, not 



UNWELCOME OFFICIOUSNESS. 465 

less on account of herself than her child ; and whilst in 
this state of perplexity was summoned to her carriage 
by her servants, who, in the confusion occasioned by 
messengers from home, as well as from herself, had in- 
creased her distress. 

The young mother arrived in time to see the face of 
her dying child distorted by convulsions, and to meet 
from her husband anger, reproach, and contempt. She 
was astonished, even terrified, by witnessing the death 
of the innocent being she had forsaken in a moment so 
critical ; and bitter was the sorrow and remorse which 
arose from offending him who had hitherto loved her so 
fondly, and esteemed her so highly. These emotions 
combining with other causes, rendered her soon the in- 
habitant of a sick-bed, and converted a house so lately 
the abode of happiness and hope, into a scene of sorrow, 
anxiety, and death. Lady Sophia, after much suffering, 
recovered her health ; but when she left her chamber, 
she became sensible that although pity and kindness 
were shown to her situation, esteem and confidence were 
withdrawn. She had no child to divert the melancholy 
of her solitary hours, and, what was of more consequence, 
no husband who could condole with her on its loss — 
silence of the past was the utmost act of tenderness to 
which Mr. Seymour could bring himself on the subject, 
which recurred to him with renewed pain when his 
anxiety was removed for the life of one still dear, though 
no longer invaluable. 

And all this misery, the fearful prospect of a long life 
embittered by self-reproach, useless regret, and lost af- 
fection, was purchased by a new dress and an ignorant 
30 



466 UNWELCOME OFFICIOUSNESS. 

waiting-maid — a risk so full of danger and so fatal in 
effect, was incurred to strike a man already refused, and 
wound a woman who never injured her. Such are the 
despicable efforts of vanity for temporary distinction, 
and such the deplorable consequences of quitting the 
tender offices of affection, and transgressing the requisi- 
tions of duty. 

TO MY INFANT. 

Forever gone ! — sweet bud of spring ! 

Yes ; from its parent stem 'tis riven ! 
Scarce had it drank the morning dew, 
Or oped its petals to our view, 
Ere destined 'twas aside to fling 

Its earthly form, and bloom in Heaven ! 

But ah ! our prospects — oh how vain ! 

Our anxious cares — oh, how requited ! 
A Mother's love — a Father's pride — 
How near to misery allied ! 
Their joy how soon exchanged for pain ! 

Their every hope, how quicklv blighted ! 

% 
And is it weakness, then, to mourn, 

When thus our dearest hopes are thwarted] 
When in the arms of icy Death 
A spotless babe resigns its breath ; 
To see it from its kindred torn — 

A Mother from her infant parted 1 



Books are leaves thrown, to sink or swim, into the stream 
of time, by a being who soon plunges in after them. 



CONTENTMENT. 467 

CONTENTMENT, 

THE TRUE ALCHEMY OF LIFE. 

Ages roll on ; but man, unchanging still, 

O'er Mammon's furnace bends with ceaseless care, 

Fans it with sighs, and seeks, with subtlest skill, 
The mystic stone; — yet never finds it there. 

What if possessed ?— its price is faded health; 

Death comes at last, and speaks these words of Fate : — 
" If all were gold, then gold no more were wealth !" 

Too fatal truth ! — and learnt, alas ! too late ! 

Contentment ! angel of the placid brow ! 

Thine is the bright and never-fading gem — 
The stone of true philosophy, which thou 

Hast placed beyond the regal diadem. 

Sweet Alchemist ! for thee how few will spurn 

Wealth's glittering chains, though happier far to hold 

That hallowed talisman whose touch can turn 
Life's seeming ills to more than Fortune's gold. 

Thine is the Eldorado of the heart : 

The halcyon clime of cloudless peace is thine : 

Angel ! to me that sacred gift impart, 
And let me ever worship at thy shrine. 



468 TO DEATH. 




TO DEATH. 

SONNET I. 

The night is waning, and the moon-eyed owl, 
Long since hath hooted from her lone retreat 
The last dark hour which suits my walk with Death. 
All now is fresh and fair ; the o'er-watching heavens 
Are full of eyes, and see too much of earth : 
The sullen ocean, in its hollow bed, 
Lies hushed, or doth but murmur in its sleep, 
Dreaming of storms : the clouds, that late were big, 
Have proved abortive ; and yon gleaming dawn 
Forebodes a day that suits not with my mood. 
O Death ! my lonely bosom's only love, 
Why dost thou linger'? 

SONNET II. 

Lord of the silent tomb ! relentless Death ! 

Fierce victor and destroyer of the World ! 

How stern thy power ! The shafts of fate are hurled 

By thine unerring arm ; — and swift as breath 

Fades from the burnished mirror,— as the wreath 



TO DEATH. 469 

Of flaky smoke, from cottage roofs upcurled, 

Melts in cerulean air — as sear leaves whirled 

Along autumnal streams — as o'er the heath 

The forms of twilight vanish — so depart, 

Nor leave a trace of their oblivious way, 

The meteor — dreams of man ! awhile the heart 

Of eager Folly swells — his bubbles gay 

Float on the passing breeze — but ah ! thy dart 

Soon breaks each glittering spell of Life's delusive day ! 

SONNET III. 

Insatiate fiend ! at thy blood-dropping shrine 

In vain unnumbered victims wait thy will ; 

The life-streams of the earth, thy thirst of ill 

Shall never quench, till that bright morning shine 

That bursts the sleep of ages. All repine 

At thy severe decrees ; and thy terrors thrill 

The hero and the sage, though pride may still 

The voice that would reveal them. Hopes divine, 

Of Faith and Virtue born, alone may cheer 

Mortality's inevitable hour. 

Nor frenzied prayer, or agonizing tear, 

May check thine arm, or mitigate thy power. 

Ruin's resistless sceptre is thy dower, 

Thy throne, a world — thy couch, Creation's bier ! 



An article may not agree with the stomach to-day, 
but may agree with it very well in a few days, weeks, or 
months afterwards, because its distinctive elements may 
then be needed in the system. 



470 



SLOTHFULNESS. 




SLOTHFULNESS. 



Go to the ant, thou sluggard ; con- 
sider her ways, and be wise : 

Which having no guide, overseer, 
or ruler, 

Provideth her meat in the summer, 
and gathereth her food in the harvest. 

How long wilt thou sleep, slug- 
gard ? when wilt thou arise out of thy 
sleep ? 

Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, 
a little folding of the hands to sleep : 

So shall thy poverty come as one 
that travelleth, and thy want as an 
armed man. 

The slothful man saith, There is a 
lion in the way; a lion is in the 
streets. 

Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, 
a little folding of the hands to sleep : 

So shall thy poverty come as one 
that travelleth ; and thy want as an 
armed man. 

Slothfuluess casteth into a deep 
sleep; and an idle soul shall suffer 
hunger. 

The desire of the slothful killeth 
him ; for his hands refuse to labour. 

As the door turneth upon his hin- 
ges, so doth the slothful upon his bed. 



The slothful hideth his hand in his 
bosom; it grieveth him to bring it 
again to his mouth. 

The sluggard is wiser in his own 
conceit than seven men that can ren- 
der a reason. 

I went by the field of the slothful, 
and by the vineyard of the man void 
of understanding; 

And lo, it was all grown over with 
thorns, and nettles had covered the 
face thereof, and the stone wall there- 
of was broken down. 

Then I saw, and considered it well : 
I looked upon it, and received in- 
struction. 

The sluggard will not plow by 
reason of the cold; therefore shall 
he beg in harvest, and have no- 
thing. 

He also that is slothful in his work 
is brother to him that is a great was- 
ter. 

As vinegar to the teeth and as 
smoke to the eyes, so is the sluggard 
to them that send him. 

He that gathereth in summer is a 
wise son : but he that sleepeth in 
harvest is a son that causeth shame. 



SLOTHFULNESS. 471 

The opposite of the virtue just treated, is here most 
strikingly and graphically portrayed. Solomon dwells 
emphatically on the vice of slothfulness, as if his soul 
had been disgusted with numerous examples of it in 
practical life around him. It is the besetting sin of 
oriental countries, which is, in a measure, to be attributed 
to the enervating influence of climate ; but even under 
these circumstances it is inexcusable. To their inhabi- 
tants, rest and inaction constitute the chief luxury of 
life, and it requires determination of mind to shake off 
this indolence of disposition. Numerous examples of it 
are not wanting even where the influence of climate 
cannot be pleaded as an apology. The occupations of 
regular business are to many an intolerable burden ; and 
did not necessity compel exertion, they would doze away 
existence in doing nothing. 

Slothfulness is not merely a negative quality, but a 
positive vice. Its example is pernicious to the commu- 
nity, and its prevalence would loosen the bonds of 
society. The workshops would be deserted, the fields 
lie untilled, commerce cease, and literature have no 
ardent students; and the ultimate consequence would 
be, that the supply of the necessaries and comforts of 
life would be cut off. 

Where this disposition is indulged it soon brings its 
just reward. Solomon graphically depicts the estate 
of the sluggard, which has run to waste while he 
folds his hands to sleep. Did its consequences stop 
there, it would be a limited evil, as its effects would be 
chiefly confined to the delinquents themselves; but it is 
a diffusive poison, and ;is the encourager and promoter 
of all other vices, it becomes seriously hurtful to the 
community. Those who cast away the restraints of 



472 SLOTHFULNESS. 

regular occupation are the devil's readiest instruments 
for every evil work. The slothful would rather beg and 
steal than work, and the mass of those who crowd the 
almshouses and jails, as paupers and felons, may trace 
their degradation and ruin to their disinclination for in- 
dustrious habits. Let the words of the wise man be 
pondered, and from the fate of the sluggard let us re- 
ceive instruction. If bodily sloth is so injurious, how 
much more, our souls, is spiritual sluggishness ! Thou 
hast a great work to perform ; there are impetuous lusts 
to be crucified, an ensnaring world to be overcome, and 
a heaven to win, and canst thou afford to be idle 1 Cease 
to be vigilant, and thou wilt be surprised ; neglect thy 
work, and adversity will seduce thee into service. Re- 
member that here is not thy rest, but thou lookest for 
one to come. Whatever, then, thou flndest to do, do it 
with thy might, for the night cometh when no man can 
work. To the faithful steward alone shall the welcome 
be given, "Well done, good and faithful servant; enter 
thou into the palace prepared for thee." 

Give ear, Reader, to Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia ! 

"Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of 
fancy, and pursue with eagerness the phantoms of hope ; 
who expect that age will perform the promises of youth, 
and that the deficiencies of the present day will be sup- 
plied by the morrow, shall see the misery of the world 
instead of happiness ; know that the decline of life will 
be shortened by shame and grief; the hand of death is 
about to put an end to it. You have lost that which 
can never be restored ; you have seen the sun rise and 
set for years, an idle gazer on the light of heaven. The 
kid forsakes the teat, and learns by degrees to climb the 
rocks in quest of independent sustenance ; you only have 



SLOTHFULNESS. 473 

made no advances, and remain helpless and ignorant. 
The moon in its many changes admonished you of the 
flux of life ; the stream that rolled before your feet up- 
braided your inactivity; forty years have passed, who 
shall restore them \ 



Spleen. 

Canker of Life ! beneath whose baneful sway 
The kind affections wither and decay, 
Whose torpid influence, and whose dark control 
Can " freeze the genial current of the soul ;" 
With self-inflicted fears the bosom's lord 
In every dreaded semblance finds accord, 
Shaping a horrid chaos on the brain, 
To forms and colors of the darkest stain. — 
Ah, wherefore had the tyrant-monster birth, 
To blot the fairest prospects of the earth \ 
Veiling the richest treasures of the skies, — 
Damping the sounds of pleasure as they rise, — 
Stamping its horrid coinage on the thought, 
Where the base image into vision's brought.! 
'Tis like a substance — that we cannot hold ; 
Speaks like a legend — that may not be told : 
Whose import's felt — imparted without breath- 
Shades to the sight — but every shade a Death. 



Anger punishes itself. 

To receive an injury is to be wounded ; but to forgive 
and to forget it, is the cure. 

Anger is the fever and frenzy of the soul. 
Anger is a sworn enemy. 



474 



BOOKED FOR A PASSAGE TO THE OLD ONE. 




BOOKED FOR A PASSAGE TO THE OLD ONE. 

God forbid that a murderer should die 

Without his share of the laws ! 
So I nimbly threw my tackle out, 

And soon tied up his jaws. 
I was judge, myself, and jury, and all, 

And solemnly tried the cause. 



Rum intoxicates the toper; love the amorous; and 
prosperity the fool. 

A quiet conscience sleeps in thunder. 

A quiet tongue shows a wise head. 

A good reputation is a fair estate. 

A fault, once denied, is twice committed. 

A wound is not cured by the unbending of the bow. 

Withhold not thine hand from showing mercy to the 
poor. 

A penny-worth of mirth is worth a pound of sorrow. 

Mischiefs come by the pound, and go away by the 
ounce. 



HINTS FOR MOTHERS AND FATHERS. 475 



HINTS FOR MOTHERS AND FATHERS. 

From the first quickening of a new creature, the 
first vital power is communicated. How much must the 
perfection or imperfection of the produce be determined 
by a perfect or imperfect, sound or diseased condition. 
Though the father, without doubt, is the original source 
from which the future being acquires its first quickening, 
its earliest breath of life, the general mass and most 
material part proceeds entirely from the mother, The 
latter is the soil from which the seed derives its juices ; 
and the future constitution, the proper substance of the 
child, must principally assume the character of the being 
of whom it makes so long a part, and of whose flesh and 
blood it is actually composed. How very necessary it is 
then for woman to pay great attention to this period, 
and to observe a good moral as well as physical regimen ; 
for they have then in their power the degree of perfection 
or imperfection, of the good or bad structure, of the 
mind and body of their child. Men in general should 
have respect for woman during that critical period ; they 
should treat her with every care, tenderness, and atten- 
tion. Every husband, in particular, ought to make this 
a duty ; and to reflect that he thereby watches over the 
life and health of his offspring, and deserves in the 
fullest sense, the title of father. In some hour of silent 
meditation this may fall into the hands of a mother; 
and the duties it recommends can be performed even 
while engaged in the common business of the family. 
It is no fiction of poetry that, "just as the twig is bent, 
the tree's inclined." When the mind begins to open, 



476 HINTS FOR MOTHERS AND FATHERS. 

and the attention is first arrested by the objects that 
surround us, much depends upon her who in that tender 
period shall make the first impressions upon that mind, 
and first directs its attention. It is then the mother has 
an access and an influence, which cannot be attained at 
any other period. The first inquiries of the little infant 
must be answered by her who gave it birth. As he 
gazes upon those twinkling stars that glitter in the eve- 
ning sky, and asks " Who made those shining things ?" it 
is a mother's duty to tell the prattler of that great and 
good Being, who dwells in the heavens, and who is the 
Father of all our mercies. And as the mind enlarges, 
the mother tells the little listener of that Jesus who lay 
in a manger, and died on a cross. And when she softens 
its pillow for its nightly slumbers, and watches its closing 
eyes, it is her privilege to hear it lisp " Our Father," 
and direct it to love that Father whose name it so early 
speaks. Let this golden opportunity pass, these days of 
childhood roll away, and the mind be filled only with 
fable stories and sportive songs, and the precious im- 
mortal is trained for some other state than the paradise 
above. Do you say that you are ignorant, and not capa- 
ble of giving instruction \ As your child clings to your 
bosom, he directs his inquiring countenance to you for 
some interesting story ; you know enough to tell him of 
some hero or king, and cannot you tell him of the King 
of Zion, the Prince of Peace \ And what more could 
the learned philosopher tell this infant's mind? You 
are unhioivu and obscure, did you say \ But you are 
known to your child, and your influence there is greater 
than that of a legislator or general. Your words are 
received with confidence, and " my mother told me so" is 
an argument of sufficient weight to convince the child 



HINTS FOR MOTHERS AND FATHERS. 477 

of the most important truths. Here you have an influ- 
ence which no other creature can have, and can exert it 
in circumstances the most favorable. It is not to open 
to a son the stores of science, that may qualify him to 
rank among the learned and wise of the world ; it is not 
to adorn a daughter with those accomplishments which 
shall attract the attention of those who crowd the halls 
of pleasure, or move in the circle of refinement and 
fashion. But the object is far more noble, more worthy 
the undivided attention of those who live for immortality. 



Maidens must be seen, and not heard. 

He that would the daughter win, 

Must with the mother first begin. 

Saith Solomon the wise, 

A good wife's a good prize. 

A good wife makes a good husband. 

Winter weather and woman's thoughts often change. 

A woman's mind and winter-wind change oft. 

The more women look in their glasses, the less they 
look to their houses. 

A wicked woman and an evil, is three half-pence 
worse than the devil. 

A virtuous woman, though ugly, is the ornament of 
the house. 

A fair woman, without virtue, is like pallid wine. 

Most women act as if they were born to wound and 
not to heal. 

There is nothing so bad in which there is not some- 
thing of good. 

Anything for a quiet life. 



478 A LECTURE. 

A LECTURE, 

SILENT BUT OF SOVEREIGN POWER. 

Pray don't alarm yourselves ! — 'tis only I ! 

Just come to speak an Epilogue, — and try 

To make my bow, for once, before the curtain — 

Behind I 've play'd an active part, that 's certain : 

Aye, aye — sharp work I 've had of late, I trow — 

Important " Doings," both with high and low ; 

The rich, the proud, the humble, and the poor, 

The learned sage, and the unletter'd boor, 

Have all succumb'd — and so must thousands more. 

Why, bless me, how you start ! how pale you look ! 

You tremble, eh, lest you be "brought to book'?" 

Nay, do not fear ! I now come but to speak — 

Perhaps on business I may call next week: — 

Next week's too soon, you say? — well, then, I '11 give 

A further respite, if you needs must live 

A little longer in this world of sorrow — 

But, stay — I '11 think again of this to-morrow ; 

For strange, aye, " passing strange," it doth appear, 

That you, so often as you 've call'd me here, 

Should, now I 'm really come, shrink back thro' fear. 

What if the tragi-comedy of Life 

Be ended, with its ever-shifting strife 

Of pain and want, of trouble and alarm, 

Of passion's tumult — pleasure's fitful harm — 

Can that be cause for grief — that make you moan'? 

Short-sighted mortals ! you should clap — not groan ; 




.ILENT LECTL 



A LECTURE. 479 

Yes — were you wise, my presence you would hail ; 
And not, like dolts, your hapless fate bewail : 
Instead of sitting there, to sob and sigh, 
Your plaudits, long and loud, would rend the sky, 
And "Bravo,- Death! bravissimo!" you'd cry. 

I know that all some "grand excuse" may plead, 
Some worldly reason, or some urgent need, 
For tarrying longer on this earthly ball : — 
Indeed, there 's nothing new in that, at all. 
One has not yet an ample fortune made; 
Another wishes just to change his trade; 
A third protests his death is not expedient ; 
A fourth declares the time is inconvenient. — 

what a scene of shuffling, shifting, shirking ! 
What paltry lies — what quibbling, and what quirking! 

The Soldier hopes, when fools and tyrants quarrel, 
To grace his brows with never-fading laurel ; 
And begs I'll let him win some noble prize, 
Before he sheathes his sword, and prostrate lies. 
No, madman ! thy career of blood is o'er; 
No longer shalt thou dip thy hands in gore, 
No longer fulminate the martial thunder, 
Nor glut thyself with rapine, blood, and plunder; 
List to the Widow's and the Orphan's cry! 
Tli} self prepare! for Retribution's nigh! 

With many an artful touch of special pleading, 
The Lawyer comes; — but hopes that, through good 
breeding, 

1 '11 " do the civil thing" by the Profession, 
And not arrest him till a future session. 



480 A LECTURE. 

Bold as he is before a half-starved client, 
To me he 's wondrous mealy-mouthed and pliant ; 
And, oh ! what lame and impotent excuses, 
The rogue invents, to hide his vile abuses ! — 
All, all alike are — full of contradictions, 
Pleas, errors, counterpleas, demurrers, fictions ! 
Ready, most ready all, to "make averment," 
That services like theirs should meet preferment ; 
And 'twould be hard, they say, — oh, very hard, 
Tf from "preferment" they should be debarr'd: — 
Such meek and gentle lambs ! so wondrous civil ! 
To hurry them so quickly to the Devil ! — 
Sweet babes of grace ! it matters not a straw 
How soon the Devil on you claps his paw ; 
Have you he will — he 's issued your subpoena — 
I must obey — and will not, dare not, screen ye ; 
This world has seen too much of you — so go 
To kindred Demons in the Courts below! 

The portly Priest, with expectation high, 

Entreats, for Virtue's sake, I '11 pass him by. 

Virtue means purity, and good intention ; 

Now, what his virtues are, perhaps he '11 mention ; 

For though, on duty bent, one day in seven, 

He proves his own 's tJie only way to Heaven ; 

Yet such the force of carnal appetite, 

That " loaves and fishes" form his chief delight, 

His constant thoughts by day, his dreams by night. 

But hold — 't were well, ere we proceed, to see 

What arguments support "The Pastor's Plea:" — 

" To mortals, bending 'neath the cumbrous load 

That weighs them down, he shows the heavenly road 



A LECTURE. 481 

Without his aid, their feet would devious stray, 

And half his flock would go — the other icay .'" — 

And dost thou really think, my reverend wight, 

That what thou say'st is rational and right? 

Dost thou the will of God presume to scan, 

And dare usurp His judgment-seat'? vain man ! 

Remember what thou art — and what thou know'st — 

And thou wilt find thy knowledge is, at most, 

A cloud of error and an empty boast ! 

When modes of faith are variously profess'd, 

And different se^ts are found — north, east, south, west — 

Who shall decide which wisest is, or best] — 

Although he c/ills himself a true believer, 

A Bigot is, at best, a self-deceiver ; 

And he who hopes by faith alone to stand, 

Erects a tottering column on the sand. 

Be just and liberal — to your country true — 

High Heav'n revere — your neighbor's good pursue ; 

Let virtue, honor, meekness, fill your breast, 

And to Almighty Goodness leave the rest : — 

Do this — and, trust me, you shall find the way 

To the bright regions of eternal day ! — 

Oh ! if the path that leads to Heaven's gate, 

Were like a labyrinth, dark and intricate, 

How few, how very few would enter there ! 

How few to tread the mystic path would dare ! 

Yon Maiden, peeping through her ivory fan, 
Would fain improve her mind, by studying Man ! 
While that spruce Beau, who ogles her, declares, 
For youth and beauty I should not lay snares, 
Nor interrupt their tender sie;hs and kisses, 
But give them time t' enjoy connubial blisses ! — 
31 



482 A LECTURE. 

Now, should I grant these turtles their request, 
Although you 'd think they were supremely blest, 
Yet such would be the bickerings and strife 
To interrupt that blessed state of life, 
That ere twelve months had o'er the couple roll'd, 
He would a tyrant prove, and she a scold ; 
And each would call on me, by night and day, 
To come and take the other one away ! 

Don't chuckle, Sir ! the time is wellnigh come 

When you 7Z be summon'd, without beat of drum. 

You wish to live, it seems, to play the Hake, 

And every dastardly advantage take 

Of unsuspecting innocence and youth, 

In spite of honor, manliness, and truth. 

I saw you throw your lure for yonder beauty, 

And try to wean her from the path of duty ; 

And yet, a wife more spotless none can claim, 

Nor one more kind, than she who bears thy name. 

Wretch that thou art! in crime and folly gray! 

What! wouldst thou, reckless, rush upon thy prey, 

And from an aged mother take her stay - ? 

Rob her of all on earth that 's worth possessing, 

And make a curse what Nature meant a blessing t 

Will no compunction check thy fierce desire'? 

None, monster! none] — then I must quench thy fire. 

Know then, that while each sense is wrapt in gloom, 

Disease shall bring thee to a cheerless tomb ; 

For thee to Heaven no prayers shall ascend, 

And thou, despis'd, shalt die — without a friend ! 

In yonder row a Widow meets my view — 
My buxom dame, 't is you I mean — yes, you ! 



A LECTURE. 483 

I saw how tremblingly alive you were, 

When I alluded to the amorous pair ; 

Your marriage was a happy illustration 

Of my remarks — 't was just your situation, 

Indeed it was — deny it if you can — 

How oft you call'd on me to take the man! 

And oh ! how oft you vow'd that ne'er again 

Would you be bound by Hymen's galling chain. 

I took him ! — and the well-dissembled tear 

Of "decent sorroiv" fell upon his bier; 

Yet now, when fairly rid of him, you bait 

Your hook — and I (good-natur'd sprite!) may wait 

Whilst you go fishing for another mate ! 

Believe me, Widow, I must have my due ; 

You shall your promise keep, or I '11 keep you. 

But, come — a truce to truths which seem unpleasant, 

And of my " Doings" past let 's speak at present ; 

I '11 not disturb the ashes of the dead, 

Though some brief sentences must needs be said, 

By which I trust to prove to demonstration, 

That none with greater zeal e'er fill'd his station ; 

Meanwhile — although, perhaps, 't will tire your patience 

To wait while I recount my operations — 

I hope to give you ample satisfaction, 

That from the purest source 1 sprang every action; 

And that (to none allied of flesh and blood) 

No motive sway'd me but the common good: — 

Th is is a merit I can fairly claim — 

"Pro bono publico" was e'er my aim, 

The basis upon which I rest my fame ! 



484 A LECTURE. 

I began — let me see — oh, my " Doings" began 
With a Lecture, "A sermon'? — a sermon'?" say you, 
" Why, surely, to preach is to say, not to do;" — 

Egad ! so it is ; well, I'll alter my plan, 
And hereafter keep but my " Doings" in view ; 
But should you require more scriptural knowledge 
Than gownsmen in general pick up at college 

(Alma Mater ! pray pardon the libel), 
Leave logical lumber to heads metaphysical, 
Leave " Valentine Verses" to ladies who're phthisical, 
Leave " Mayoralty- Visits" — by all that is quizzical — 

O leave them, — and study your Bible ! 

THE POET. 

Although I quench'd the sacred flame 

That glow'd within his breast, 
The Bard obtain'd a deathless fame — 

A haven, too, of rest : 
The laurels of poetic praise 

Which now adorn his tomb, 
Had, but for Me, been blighted bays, 

To wither — not to bloom. 

THE ARTIST. 

Mine was the task to stop the Artist's hand, 

Ere age had brought his genius to a stand : 

He'd finish'd Time — and therefore 'twas my whim, 

Just at that nick of time, to finish him ; 

And as I knew he meant a Dance to lead me, 

To show his skill in graphic witticisms, 
I took his brush away! — and made him heed me, — 

And saved him thus from friendly criticisms ! 



A LECTURE. 455 



THE CRICKETER. 



In the cricketer's care-killing game 

There was something so manly and gay, 
That his pastime I never could blame, 

But cheerfully join'd in the play : 
And if Time had not thought it a sin, 

Forever to stand behind wicket ; 
The Batsman might still have been in, 

And Death might have still play'd at cricket ! 

THE GAMESTER. 

Mark'd ye that convulsive start 1 

Saw ye how his eyeballs roll'd % 
Vultures gnaw the Gamester's heart ! — 

Fearful truths that sigh has told ! 

Transient pleasure — endless pain ! 

Gamester ! the enchantment's o'er ; 
Passion and the lust of gain 

Give to Death one victim more ! 

THE SERENADER. 

Would you know why so slyly I grasp'd the stiletto, 

And slew young Adonis, the gay Serenader % 
I had just before seen, in a foul lazaretto, 

A fair one expire : — it was he first betrayed her ! 
No longer, said I, shall thy strains, tho' melodious, 

Their aid lend to lead lovely woman astray ; 
Not ;i cord shall, thou strike for a purpose so odious- 

80 haste, Serenader ! Death calls thee away ! 



486 A LECTURE. 



THE TOILET. 



A lady so fair, or a maid half so sly, 

At a Toilet were never yet seen, 
As on that fatal night — when, in masquerade, I 
Attended on Laura (none other was nigh) 

And clad her in raiment so sheen. 

But Laura coquetted — for Laura was vain — 

And though she professed to return 
Young Edward's true passion — (I speak it with pain) 
He perish'd, the victim of cruel disdain, — 

And his ashes now rest in yon urn ! 

So the false one I took ! though I deck'd her so gay 

With trinkets, and jewels, and gold ; — 
And the gossips still talk of that terrible day, 
When Death as a waiting-maid bore her away 
To the charnel-house, darksome and cold ! 

THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 

Immers'd in apathy and mental gloom, 
The wasted form of Hypochondria sits; 

And as the phantoms flit around his room, 

With fear he shakes — or falls, convuls'd in fits ! 

The workings of his melancholy mind 

Present horrific spectres to his sight ; 
He sees no friend, beneficent and kind — 

But life, to him, is one dark, cheerless night. 

O Melancholy ! bane of peace and health ! 

When thy sad reign contaminates the breast, 
Nor pleasure's glittering charms, nor love, nor wealth 

Can give repose : in Death alone there's rest ! 



A LECTURE. 



THE ANTIQUARY. 



487 



What wild illusions mock their sight, 

When Antiquaries pore 
O'er mouldering relics, day and night, 

With patient, plodding lore ! — 
Life's meant for rational enjoyment ; 

And if, while here below, 
Man seeks not — finds not — wise employment, 

To Davy let him go ! 

THE CHAMPION". 

O mourn not for prize-fighting kiddies inglorious ; 

Lament not the fate of those swells of " the king:" 
The Championship's mine ! for I'm ever victorious, 

And fam'd Boxiana my prowess shall sing ! 
Then hoist the black fogle — let marrow-bones rattle — 

And push round the skulls which with claret o'erflow 
Drink, drink to the Champion, who, fairly in battle, 

The famed men of muscle forever laid low ! 

THE WARRIOR. 

With martial port the Warrior seeks the field, 

Where waves Destruction's banner in the wind, 
And, though in combat wounded, scorns to yield, 

For " love and glory" fire his ardent mind : 
Now, see, he proudly mounts the blood-stained car, 

And leads his squadrons to the fierce affray ; 
His gallant bearing turns the tide of war — 

The adverse army recreant flee away ; 
But, oh ! when just within his grasp the prize, 
His life-blood flows — a film o'erspreads his eyes — 
He faints — and in the hour of victory dies ! 



488 A LECTURE. 

THE HUNTER. 

The fearless Hunter took his dangerous leap ; 
For though I warn'd, he held my warning cheap. 
At length he fell — another fill'd his place, 
And, like him, heedless, follows in the chase. 

THE MOTHER. 

Methinks I hear some pitying Mother say, 

Why snatch a helpless Infant thus away ] 

Why turn to clay that cheek on which was spread 

The lily's whiteness with the rose's red 1 

Why close those ruby lips — those deep-fring'd eyes X 

Why seize so young, so innocent a prize ? 

Hold ! hold ! nor murmur at the wise decree 

That set a lovely earth-born seraph free, 

And gave it bliss and immortality ! 

LIFE'S ASSURANCE. 

Saw you that aged man, whose tottering feet 
Could scarce support him to the office door 1 
He was a Life Assurer ; — and though poor, 

Deposits from his pittance made, to meet 

His offspring's need. O happiness complete 
When man so dies ! The miser's store 
May serve some idle spendthrift! — seldom more; 

But competency thus acquir'd is sweet ! 
Sweet 'tis to him who, providently kind, 

Protects his wife and children from the blast 
Of poverty ; and oh ! how sweet they find 

The succor it affords ! — such joys will last ! — 



A LECTURE. 489 

Who blames me, then, for keeping Life's Assurance 1 
Thro' Death, you see, Life may be worth endurance. 

THE BACCHANALIANS. 

Tho' Bacchanals boast of their ivy-crowned god, 

And sing of the bright, sparkling glass, 
With the juice of the grape, how they hiccup and nod, 

How it likens a man to an ass ! 

The balm of the bottle, they say, lightens care, — 

But far more it lightens the purse ; 
While it brings to its vot'ry a load of despair, 

It brings, too, his heaviest curse. 

The groans of the parent, the child, or the wife, 

Who famish while Bacchanals swill ! 
Then say, can you blame me for taking the life 

Of such as so recklessly kill \ 

THE GLUTTON. 

No matter what — flesh, fowl, or fish — 

If a man become a glutton ; 
With gout he feeds from ev'ry dish — 

Veal, ven'son, beef, or mutton. 
Eating — drinking — panting — puffing ! 
O ! the dear delights of stuffing. 

But when the greedy epicure 

A god thus makes his belly, 
I mix some poison — slow, but sure — 

In gravy, soup, or jelly. 
On the couch, then, sec him lying"? — 
Writhing — groaning — gasping — dying! 



490 A LECTURE. 

THE ALCHEMIST. 

His time and health the alchemist destroys, 

In vain pursuit of visionary joys ! 

What if he finds the rare and hidden treasure, 

More pain his golden prize would bring than pleasure. 

Gold! gold! thou bane of life! thou fancied good! 

Thy use to man, how little understood ! 

ACADEMIC HONORS. 

Should I the martyr student's portrait draw, 

And show that genius, with each good combin'd, 
That virtue, and that nobleness of mind, 
Were his — without a blemish or a flaw — 

You'd blame me for my act ; — and yet 'twas kind : 
For well I knew, that maugre worth and merit, 
Posthumous fame was all that he'd inherit ; 
And those, indeed, who court fame ought to know, 
That death alone can lasting fame bestow. 

THE EMPIRIC. 

The quack kilPd his patient, and I kill'd the quack ; 

Thus a fool and a knave were got rid of at once ; 
But though I contriv'd to lay him on his back, 

Behind he's left many a death-dealing dunce ! 

THE MISER. 

The wretch w T ho hoards, while others pine 

In want, and pain, and woe, 
Content must be at Pluto's shrine 

Penance to undergo; 



A LECTURE. 491 

For though he hold the lucre fast, 
And hoard up every shilling, 

To Pluto he must go at last, 
And there expect a grilling. 

THE PHAETON. 

Behold, my love, how fine the day ! 

Cried Charles, as he the phaeton mounted ; 
His heart was light, his spirits gay, 

And tales of love the youth recounted. 

But false as fair the syren he 

That day had honor'd with his name ; 

And I resolv'd to set him free 

From private grief and public shame. 

THE LAWYER. 

I told you naught but truth before, concerning this fra- 
ternity, 

Nor should I aught do less or more, tho' I talk'd to all 
eternity ! 

If any mortal doubt my word — to law, then, let him go, 

A greater curse 'twere quite absurd to wish one's 
bitterest foe. 

THE ANGLER. 

Though a jest-loving wight has thought fit to define, 
In sportive derision, cadi angling brother, 

A.8 •■ a -tick ;iiid a string (id est, rod and line) 

With a worm at one end and a fool at the other;" 



492 A LECTURE. 

Yet, believe me, no fool is the man who, in quiet, 
Can sit down contented amid the world's din; 

'Tis fashion's blind vot'ry, who, dwelling in riot, 
The slave is of folly, of care, and of sin. 

THE BUBBLE-BLOWERS. 

There are bubbles above and below, 

On land, and at sea, and in air; 
But none of the bubbles I know, 

With the bubbles of Britain compare : 

Such wonderful bubbles are they ! 

"What puffiing it took, and what trouble, 

To blow all these bubbles at first ! 
And the trouble was more than made double, 

When the bubbles of Britain all burst ! — 

W r hat troublesome bubbles were they ! 

But why should you mourn over bubbles, 
That are pufFd in and out with a breath, 

When the greatest of bubbles and troubles 
Are, one and all, pufF'd out by Death ! 

The bubbles and troubles of life ! 



THE CAPTIVE. 

'Twas I who set the wretched Captive free, 

And eased him of his load of misery — 

In mercy bore him from a dungeon's gloom, 

And laid his body in the silent tomb : 

His mortal part commingled with its kindred dust — 

His spirit took its flight, to join " the good and just.' 



A LECTURE. 493 



THE GAMBLER. 



Now the fatal die he throws ; — 
Heard ye that hysteric laugh X 

'Twas to hide his deep felt woes : — 
See him now the poison quaff ! 

See his frame with anguish shake ! 

See his wildly-starting eyes ! 
The play was deep — 'twas Life at stake- 

And the victor claims his prize. 



I know to some the world is fair, 
For them there's music in the air, 
And shapes of beauty everywhere • 

But all to me is dreary. 
I know in me the sorrows lie 
That blunt your ear, and dim your eye ; 
You weep to think that Death's so nigh, 
And sickly turn your heads and sigh. 



But ah ! these lessons I have but begun ! 
For when the world with an enticing snare 
My foolish heart assail'd, from my best love 
Again I wander'd : — O, how base was I 
To quit the pillow of eternal peace, 
And seek repose among the thorns of time — 
At Pleasure's flatt'ring call to turn aside 
From the rich fountain of celestial wine, 
Which fills the mind with vigor, and expands 
The willing soul to the descending rays 



494 A LECTURE. 

Of pure intelligence, for transient drops 
Of soul-deluding joy, by sense prepar'd 
Which spread intoxication through the mind, 
And leave the heart for happiness unfit ! 
No creature comfort could I then enjoy ; 
My best affections, gone astray from God, 
Could find no centre, but from thing to thing, 
With restless search, an endless round pursu'd, 
And still came empty home. How true that word, 
" The way which the transgressor takes is hard !" 
No way so hard as when we take our own. 
How does repentance tread, with bleeding feet 
And throbbing bosom, o'er the rugged path 
Which sin indulged has planted thick with thorns ! 
Still on my mind which way soe'er I look, 
My sin was portray'd, and my guilt was mark'd 
More deep, because ingratitude was there. 
For this mine eyes have oft with tears ran down, 
And secret groans have shook my aching heart ; 
For this my days have oft been wrapt in clouds ; 
In awful shades of guilty fears my nights. 



THE ART OF LYING. 

" When sordid man, by justice unrestrain'd, 
Rang'd the wild woods, and food by plunder gain'd ; 
Yet unenlighten'd by mild reason's ray, 
Coarse nature rul'd with undisputed sway. 
But when some sage's great, aspiring mind, 
By bonds of mutual interest link'd mankind, 
Then art restrain'd her sister's wide domain, 
And claim'd with nature a divided reign ; 
Yet still distrustful of her own success, 
She sought to please by wearing nature's dress 



A LECTURE. 495 

" So that great art, whose principles and use 
Employ the pen of my unworthy muse, 
Though great itself, in these degenerate days 
Is forced to shine with adscititious rays, 
Nor ever can a lasting sceptre wield, 
Unless in robes of purest truth conceal'd. 

" Hear then, whoe'er the arduous task will try, 
Who wish with sense, with skill, with taste to lie ; 
Ye patriots plotting ministers' disgrace ; 
Ye ministers who fear — a loss of place ; 
Ye tradesmen, who with writs the fop entrap ; 
Ye fops, who strive those tradesmen to escape ; 
Ye reverend Jews, enrich'd by Christian spoil ; 
Ye parsons who for benefices toil : 
No longer hope by open war to win, 
Cease, cease, ye fools, to lie " through thick and thin;" 
But know this truth, enough for rogues to know, 
Lies ne'er can please the man who thinks them so. 

"Would you, by flattery, t seek the road to wealth'? 
Push not too hard, but slide it in by stealth. 
Mark well your cully's temper and pursuit, 
And fit to every leg the pliant boot. 
Tell not the spendthrift that he hoards with sense, 
Tell not the miser that he scorns expense ; 
Nor praise the learning of a dunce profest, 
Nor swear a sloven's elegantly drcst. 
Thus, if by chance, in harmless sport and play, 
You coolly talk a character away ; 
Or boldly a flat perjurer appear, 
Nor ffallows dread, nor lacerated ear ; 
Still let your lies to truth near neighbors be, 
And still with probability agree. 



496 A LECTURE. 

So shall you govern with unbounded reign, 
Nor longer cringe, and toil, and lie in vain ; 
While truth laments her empire quite o'erthrown, 
And by a form usurp'd so like her own." 



Did sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue, 
Than ever man pronounc'd or angel sung ; 
Had I all knowledge, human and divine, 
That thought can reach, or science can define ; 
And had I power to give that knowledge birth, 
In all the speeches of the babbling earth; 
Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire 
To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire ; 
Or had I faith like that which Israel saw, 
When Moses gave them miracles and law : 
Yet gracious charity, indulgent guest, 
Were not thy power exerted in my breast, 
Those speeches would send up unheeded prayer : 
That scorn of life would be but wild despair ; 

A cymbal's sound were better than my voice ; 

My faith were form ; my eloquence were noise ; 

Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind, 

Softens the high, and rears the abject mind ; 

Knows with just reins, and gentle hand, to guide 

Betwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride. 

Not soon provok'd, she easily forgives, 

And much she suffers, as she much believes. 

Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives ; 

She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives ; 

Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even ; 

And opens in each heart a little heaven. 

Each other gift which God on man bestows, 

Its proper bounds and due restriction knows ; 



A LECTURE. 497 

To one fix'd purpose dedicates its power ; 

And finishing its act, exists no more. 

Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees, 

Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease ; 

But lasting charity's more ample sway, 

Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay, 

In happy triumph shall forever live, 

And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive. 

As through the artist's intervening glass, 

Our eye observes the distant planets pass ; 

A little we discover ; but allow 

That more remains unseen than art can show. 

So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve, 

(Its feeble eye intent on things above), 

High as we may, we lift our reason up, 

By faith directed, and confirmed by hope ; 

Yet we are able only to survey 

Dawnings of beams, and promises of day ; 

Heaven's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight, 
Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light. 

But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispell'd ; 

The sun shall soon be face to face beheld, 

In all his robes, with all his glory on, 

Seated sublime on his meridian throne. 

Then constant faith and holy hope shall die, 

One lost in certainty, and one in joy : 

Whilst thou, more happy power, fair charity, 

Triumphant sister, greatest of the three, 

Thy office and thy nature still the same, 

Lasting thy lamp, and unconsum'd thy flame, 

Shalt still survive 

Shall stand before the host of heaven confest, 

For ever blessing, and for ever blest. 
32 



498 A LECTURE. 

Their robes so fashion'd, that degenerate men 
May fancy all the wondrous charms within ! 
And thus each dame, all beautified by art, 
Attracts the wanton eye, th' unhallow'd heart ; 
Those charms, alas ! that virtue bids them screen, 
By ev'ry lawless libertine are seen : 
This makes seduction seem both fine and gay, 
While weeping virtue walks disrob'd away. 
Here all our guilt, and all our sorrows lie, 
Hence youths and maids to certain ruin fly. 
By nature man's deprav'd, this makes him worse, 
Impels to guilt that proves an endless curse ; 
They fix their eyes upon each swelling breast, 
The vices reigning will declare the rest. 
Oh ! what's th' enchanting eye, the ruddy face, 
" Beauty unchaste, is beauty in disgrace ;" 
And yet in them is every art and charm, 
To win the wisest, and the coldest warm : 
Fond love, the gentle vow, the gay desire, 
The kind deceit, and still reviving fire ; 
Silence that speaks with eloquence of eyes, 
That captivates the good, the great, the wise, 
Languor that fascinates, all conqu'ring charms, 
That tempts the sage, and e'en the stoic warms. 
Yet, oh ! the pride, the glory of our race, 
For want of prudence is the world's disgrace ; 
Guilt, which in ages past in darkness lay, 
Is now the pride and order of the day. 
But this degen'racy is big with woe, 
To social order a destructive foe ; 
The race of mankind are by nature frail, 
And strong temptation with the best prevail. 



A LECTURE. 499 

Th' enticing ladies who their charms expose, 

At once ensnare, and are ensnar'd by foes ; 

Each am'rous fop with greedy eyes surveys 

Their charms expos'd, and covets still to gaze ; 

This makes the husband soon forget his spouse, 

For man is false nor recollects his vows ; 

With wild inconstancy for all he burns, 

Each shameless miss subdues his heart by turns ; 

He views each true or artificial charm, 

These fatal sights his sleeping passions warm : 

Seduction is his last resource — hence woe, 

Disgrace, and shame o'erwhelm th' ensnaring foe ; 

And hence, oh ! hence, such num'rous rakes we see, 

And idle women, plung'd in misery ; 

Hence misses who have scarce twelve winters seen, 

Become the victims of degenerate men. 

So lost from shepherd and its mourning dam, 

Through some lone desert roves a straggling lamb, 

No danger fears, but as she idly strays, 

Round ev'ry bush the heedless wanton plays, 

Till raging wolves the beauteous toy surround, 

Or tigers slay her on the crimson ground ; 

Then from her guiltless heart the purple flows, 

A precious morsel for the hungry foes. 

By dire example ruin'd, thus wretched lies 

Many a youthful dame with streaming eyes ; 

No more their lips like dewy roses glow, 

Their weary eyes no peaceful slumbers know ; 

But left to strike their pensive breasts in vain, 

And curse the authors of their lasting pain. 



500 A LECTURE. 









Vain, inconsistent, self-deluded race, 

Whose vision's limited to finite space, 

You grasp some idle phantom of the brain, 

And, maniac-like, would clank and hug your chain. 

All — all is vanity beneath the sun ! 

Whene'er the sand of Life its course hath run — 

Or soon, or late — 'tis then the proper time 

This grovelling world to quit, and seek the clime" 

Where Life's eternal, glorious, and sublime ! 

'Tis done, and now be happy : each soul glad. 

Let e'en your lag flesh rest in hope of meeting once 

again 
Those ye best loved ; sure the same Power that rear'd 

the piece at first, 
And took it down, can reassemble the loose scatter'd 

parts. 
Each embezzled or mislaid atom shall be collected ; 
Each soul shall have a body ready furnished ! 
And every joint possess its proper place, with new 

elegance of form ; 
Hence ! hence ! ! I bid ye hence ! ! ! all who are profane. 




